Samwise's Tale
by endalust
Summary: Just how long would you wait for your true love? *COMPLETE* Please read and review!
1. The Story

DISCLAIMER: I don't own LOTR, but I love it. Especially Sam. 

"Happy birthday, Master Gamgee!" 

Sam waved vaguely at the voice. Today, this day of days, was his one hundred and second birthday. And right now, he was feeling the weight of every minute. Bag End hovered beyond him, a haven from the bustle of the town square. He had only to reach it to get away from all the well-wishers that had insisted upon following him all day. Even though he had retired from his post as mayor for six years, he had found that his incredible popularity had not waned the tiniest bit. *Ah!* he thought as he pushed open the door to his home. *What a relief.* He shuffled out to the kitchen and laid down his packages on the table. He would have to start preparing for dinner soon; Elanor, his oldest daughter, was coming for dinner and he wanted to have all her favorite foods ready. 

Bag End was lonely, now that even Rose's nagging voice had disappeared. Their marriage had been happy for several years, but as the rumors of Sam's travels and heroic acts grew, she became resentful and moody, snapping out at her husband in any way she could. Several times, she had even threatened to destroy the Red Book, his most treasured possession, knowing that was his only link to Frodo and the other members of the Fellowship. Any love they may have shared was soured, and even though she had been a kind and gentle mother to all their children, she had tormented him about his "unnatural" ways for years. 

He sighed, and wished deeply that Rose was resting more easily now than she had ever been in life. 

A knock at the door startled him and he looked up from chopping carrots. "Who's there?" he called out, his voice still strong and clear. 

There was no answer, just another knock. He walked out to the door and opened it slowly. A cloaked, hooded figure stood before him, and for one insane, hideous moment, he thought it was one of the Nazgul come back to claim him. Then, the visitor lowered its hood and he clutched the doorjamb in amazement and shock. 

"Happy Birthday, Master Samwise." A familiar voice shook the very foundations of his heart. 

He stared at the figure, and began to laugh. 

****************************************** 

"Papa!" Elanor came running up the lane. She was a bit late, and she could imagine her father's reaction. He would chide her gently for her tardiness, then proceed to sit her down at the table and stuff her with her favorite childhood foods. Her father was gentle, sometimes too gentle for his own good. 

"Papa!" She knocked on the door and waited breathlessly. When there was no answer, she knocked again, harder than before. 

"Come in, Elanor. The door's open." She swung the door open and entered, looking around to see where her father was. She saw him sitting by the fire facing her, but he was staring intently at the chair opposite him. She walked in, concerned, and as Sam rose to greet her, a form rose from the other chair and turned to face her. 

Elanor gasped. "Papa! Who is this?" 

Sam gestured for her to sit down. "Have a seat, Elanor. This here Lady is an old friend." 

Elanor fairly collapsed into the seat. An old friend? She had never heard her father talk about an old friend like this one. The woman was about a hobbit's height, but that was where the similarities ended. For starters, she was in possession of the most violently red curls Elanor had ever seen, and she was paler than skim milk. She was thin, but conveyed an air of strength and hidden threat. Her eyes were glittering in the light from the fire, hard and clear and intensely blue. She emanated power and a subtle hint of....what was it? *Eyes like Mister Frodo,* thought Elanor disjointedly. 

The woman inclined her head to Elanor. "I am glad to meet you, Mistress Elanor." Her voice was low and soft. "I am sorry for intruding upon your dinner with your father, but as I have managed to miss all his birthdays so far, I felt it necessary to put in an appearance on this one." She sat down again, looking vaguely like a tiger waiting to spring. There was a brief silence, which Sam broke a moment later. 

"Elanor, my dear, this is Kerra Ojona. She is...a very old friend. Very old. Very dear to me." He smiled at Kerra, whose face was graced by a ghost of a smile. He looked at Elanor, who was gazing pop-eyed at his guest. 

"Papa, Kerra, I--I hope you'll forgive me, but isn't she a bit young to be a old friend?" She mentally kicked herself for being so rude, but her brain had frozen and her tongue was working on its own. 

Kerra produced the wisp of a smile again. "That is easily answered. Your father and I met on the Great Quest of the Ring. It was quite by chance, really. You see, the fey do not generally mix with the other races." 

Elanor felt her stomach hit the floor. "The FEY?" she crowed. "Papa?!" 

Sam nodded. "Aye, Elanor. This here is one of the fey. We happened to meet up in the Forest of Ré-Nancet, after we passed through Rivendell." 

"This wasn't in the book!" Elanor was confused. "Papa, if you had met the fey, I would have thought that would have found its way into the book!" 

Sam blushed. "I had my reasons, Elanor, for keeping some things secret. This was one of those things." Kerra gazed at him with a strange look in her eyes and nodded. He looked at Elanor full in the face. "I haven't spoken of this to anyone since we came back to the Shire all those years ago, not even Mister Frodo." His eyes grew sad at the mention of his friend's name. 

"This is incredible." Elanor's mind was beginning to catch up to the events taking place. "Papa, you have a faery sitting in your drawing room, and yet you're calm as a cucumber! How do you do it? And why," she asked, turning to Kerra, "are you here? If you were somehow involved in this quest, there's got to be something to do with that making you come here, birthday or no birthday!" 

Kerra smiled again. "You have raised an intelligent daughter, Samwise. Your years were not wasted after we parted ways." 

"They were wasted, after a fashion." Sam stared at his hands. He looked old, so very old, sitting there in the firelight. "There hasn't been a day in all these years that I haven't thought about her." 

"Thought about who?" Elanor was interested now. "Who, Papa?" 

He sighed deeply, and wiped away a tear that Elanor hadn't seen before. She watched as he reached into his shirt and withdrew something that hung there on a slender silver chain. He had worn it ever since she could remember, but she had never thought to ask him what it was. He rolled the pendant around on his palm, then closed his fingers around it tightly. 

"I'll tell you, Elanor, and Kerra can put in her piece whenever she feels like it. She knows them in-between bits better'n I do, after all. I think dinner will have to wait a while though, my dear...it's quite a tale." His eyes became distant, and the firelight flickering upon him made him look dusky and magical. Elanor left her chair quietly and came to rest her head on her father's knee, as she had always done when he told her a story when she was little, and with a deep breath, he began. 

***********************************   
  



	2. The Mystery

DISCLAIMER: Again, I don't own them, but I love them.   


"Samwise! Keep up, will you?" Gandalf's voice smacked like a whip through the haze in Sam's brain. The heat was intolerable, and with his heavy pack weighting him down, it was torment just to breathe. Again, Sam found himself wondering why he had even agreed to come on the trip.   
  
Ahead of him, Frodo stumbled and fell with a tiny cry. Sam, forgetting his own discomfort, rushed to his master's side, cradling the small, curly head in his work-roughened hands. "Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?" he whispered softly.   
  
Frodo smiled up at him. "Of course I am, Sam. Just tripped up a bit. Good thing you were right behind me or I would have fallen right down the mountain!" 

Frodo heaved himself to his feet and readjusted his pack. A few small, but heavy items had fallen out when Frodo had stumbled, and Sam picked them up and slipped them into his own pack. He was, as always, carrying the heaviest load of the Nine, even though Bill the pony could have carried at least twice as much as he was with ease. Pippin had often offered to lighten the load, but Sam had a sneaking suspicion that Pippin's help in "lightening the load" would be to weight down his stomach with the food that was in Sam's pack. So the little gardener struggled on, keeping a watch out for wargs, goblins, orcs, or hungry hobbits. 

****************************   
  
Night was falling across the land, sweeping its arms out in wide circles that enveloped all within its reach. As they reached the end of the foothills, the Nine could see a dark forest, deep and cool, stretching out before them, and it was with relief that Gandalf led them within its borders. As the sun slowly set, he led them into a small grove and told them to bed down for the night.   
  
"We shall be safe here, I believe," he said, lifting off his pointed hat. "This forest is protected in many ways." The Nine were too tired to ask any questions, and immediately set about making camp.   
  
Sam dropped his pack on the ground with a heavy sigh, feeling aches in places he had never knew he had. His shrewd, brown-eyed gaze roved over the Nine, taking them all in with more honesty than he gave himself credit for. Pippin and Merry were arguing good-naturedly over blankets, Gandalf was filling his pipe with Old Toby, Aragorn and Boromir were sharpening their weapons (Good idea, Sam thought, but I'm hoping that we shan't be needing them swords anytime soon.), Gimli and Legolas were inscrutable as usual, and Frodo looked even more pale and tired than ever.   
  
*The Ring drains him so,* thought Sam sadly. *It takes and takes, and gives nothing back. He gets paler every day.* Frodo caught his friend's eye, and grinned.   
  
"I didn't know you were already on watch, Sam! The Sun hasn't set yet."   
Sam smiled back halfheartedly. "Aye, just getting my bearings, Mr. Frodo." He walked over to Frodo slowly, dragging his pack along behind him. He dropped heavily down next to Frodo and sighed. "Oh, but it feels good to take a load off, don't it now, Mr. Frodo?"   
  
Frodo nodded. "My feet just feel so heavy sometimes..." His voice trailed off as he looked around him. "These trees...I've never seen anything like them." He picked up a leaf and toyed idly with it. "They seem as if they've got rainbows trapped inside them, don't they, Sam?" He extended the leaf with a hand weakened by the burden of the Ring, and Sam quelled his sadness as he saw how that hand trembled.   
  
"Aye, they are nice." He twirled the stem slowly, watching the facets of the jewel-like leaf catching and refracting the rays of the setting sun. A sudden flash of silver caught him in the eyes, and a memory flashed up, of silver eyes and hair, of a voice that echoed down the years. A tear welled up unexpectedly in his eye, and he brushed it away swiftly. He wasn't quick enough, and Frodo saw the small action.   
  
"Sam, this isn't right..." Frodo shook his head. "I never should have let Gandalf bring you along. Or Merry or Pippin, they just don't understand. I don't even understand..." Frodo breathed in harshly. "I just can't go on anymore, Sam! I'm so tired!" Tears spilled out from under Frodo's lids, rolling down his face, and the pain in his features nearly broke Sam's loyal little heart.   
  
"Mr. Frodo!" He laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder and turned Frodo to face him fully. "It was me as chose to come in the end, not Gandalf. I wanted to come, and help you, Mr. Frodo. I made a promise not to lose you, and I shan't! Never!" Sam stared hard into Frodo's eyes. "You're my master, but you're my friend, the truest friend I've got, and I'm finished if I'll let you down now!"   
  
Frodo's tears were still flowing, but Sam's simple, passionate speech had brought a new light to Frodo's eyes. A long-forgotten strength had come back to his body, and he no longer seemed so pale, or so transparent. A smile lit Frodo's face, and he gripped Sam's hand tightly. 

"You are too loyal for me, Sam, and too true. You may be a gardener, but you have the heart of a lion. Sometimes, it seems like the burden upon me could never be borne, but now, somehow, if you are with me, I feel I may succeed in this quest yet."   
  
"I will never leave your side, Mr. Frodo. And that's a promise. Anyone tries to hurt you, they'll catch it hot from Sam Gamgee!"   
Frodo laughed, a true, joyful sound. "Sam, you amaze me. If all gardeners were as brave as you, there'd be no fear of Mordor in Middle-earth!" Sam blushed, and hung his head, too pleased for words.   
  
"Sam! There you are! We have been wondering where you and your pack of plenty have been hiding!" Pippin and Merry grinned cheerfully into their faces. "It's time to eat! Our stomachs are growling louder than thunder!" With a final squeeze, Frodo released Sam's hand, then got up and began to help Sam set up for dinner. 

*****************************   
  
Sam had been chosen for the second watch that evening, and it was with difficulty that Legolas roused him for his turn. The watch was with Gandalf and they sat in companionable silence for a long time, Gandalf smoking and Sam idly playing with small objects he found in his pockets. Exhausting his supply of small feathers, pretty eggshells, and string, his fingers, questing deeper, came into contact with a small, hard object. As always, a jolt fired up into his fingers and ran up his arm and pooled somewhere near his heart. The temptation to take it out and look at it was overwhelming. *It's dark,* he thought. *Gandalf's thinking whatever it is that wizards think, and everyone else is asleep. No harm in a quick peek.* He grasped the chain, and lifted it out of his pocket. 

It was a tiny sphere, carved all over with runes of an unknown tongue. It shimmered silver in the faint moonlight, and a strange comfort came to him. He rolled it over and over in his rough palm, musing quietly over the beauty of the small trinket. A voice, soft and far-away, sounded in his mind. He was lost in remembrance before he knew it.   
  
"I have nothing to offer you, but this small thing...."   
  
"What's that you're playing with, Sam?" Pippin's voice broke into his reverie. Before he had known it, his watch was over, and he could go back to sleep.   
  
"Nothing, just a bit of string," he said, slipping the item back into his pocket. "I'm back to sleep."   
  
He laid down beside Frodo, his head heavy on his pack. Without him even noticing it, his hand slipped inside his pocket once more and gripped the sphere. He was asleep almost instantly. 

************************* 

The next morning was cool and clear, with the new Sun reflecting beautifully through the leaves. In this forest, time seemed to flow more smoothly, and a leisurely breakfast seemed appropriate, even to Gandalf. Now, however, Merry and Pippin remembered their inquisitive natures and began pelting him with questions. 

"So, Gandalf," asked Pippin breezily through a mouthful of bread. "Why did you say this forest is so well-guarded?"   
  
Gandalf smiled indulgently. "A good question, Peregrin. This forest we are in is known as the Ré-Nancet. In the Common Tongue, that means --"   
  
"Where Faeries Walk," Legolas finished for him. The elf's fair brows drew together. "You have brought us into the land of the Fey, Gandalf!"   
  
Gimli growled low under his breath. "Wizard, this is folly!" The dwarf's sturdy little body tensed as if for battle. "We must leave this place!"   
  
Gandalf shook his head. "It is a long time, before Mordor fell into ruin, since the fey have walked openly in Middle-Earth. There have been rumors, of course, but the fey are secretive and would hardly let themselves be seen by the likes of us. We have nothing to fear."   
  
Sam whistled through his teeth. "Faeries!" he murmured. "What else!" He stopped short, for he found that his hand had once again wandered to his pocket. 

Frodo looked up with interest sparkling in his eyes. "They say that a faery was wandering through the Shire a few years back," he said softly. All eyes turned to him, and he blushed a little, then continued. "Actually, there were two, a man and a woman. Bilbo saw them. He didn't remember much of the man, but he said the woman was young, and beautiful, and silver, all silver, like moonlight." Frodo shook his head. "I would have loved to see them." 

Sam felt his blood freeze from the feet up. *Silver!* he thought dully. *She was silver!* "Were...were they on horses?" he managed to ask slowly. 

Frodo shook his head. "Bilbo said they were small, like hobbits, and these were on ponies. She was riding a pretty little dappled grey thing, and gay and prancing." He sighed. "What a sight! Faeries in the Shire!" 

Sam breathed out slowly. " 'Tweren't prancing when I saw it ," he whispered, and immediately regretted it. 

Gandalf's head whipped around like Sam had yanked on his beard. "What did you say, Samwise?" His voice, not raised and only curious, was large and terrible in the quiet of the forest. 

"I...I said..." Sam's voice quivered. "Nevermind! I said nothing!" 

"Samwise Gamgee! Tell me what you saw!" Gandalf was staring at him fully. "What happened?" 

Sam turned pale and silent; then, without warning, the words poured forth. 

"It was about five years back, like Mr. Frodo said, that's the truth. I was out in the woods, looking for mushrooms. You know how I love mushrooms, and my dad, he just--" 

A sharp look from Gandalf ended his dithering, and with a sigh Sam went on. 

"Well, you see, I was in the woods, and it was such a quiet day that I could hear some crying off deep in the trees. I followed it, thinking if it were a baby animal I'd see if there was anything I could do for it. But I found---her. 

"She was trying to get at her pony's hoof, but the creature was spooked and there was no calming it. It had slipped a shoe, and the only way it could have just ripped it clean off like that was if it had been running away from summat. 

"She had her hood up, and I couldn't see her face right away, but her pony kicked her, and she fell back. Her hood fell off, and I saw her. She was all silver...she was beautiful, but not in a way I had thought of before. I guess I made a little noise, and when she saw me she nearly took off. She pulled out a little knife, but she was so weak I don't think she could have held me off for long if I had a mind to hurt her." 

"You are lucky you did not make closer acquaintance with a fey dagger," said Gandalf. "For they are often enchanted, and you could have been the victim of quite a nasty spell." 

Sam blanched at the thought. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself before going on. "Well, as it was, she calmed down when I told her I wanted to help. Poor thing was nearly collapsing from fear, and a friendly face was dear as anything to her. She was scared, I could tell, almost jumping out of her skin at every little sound. The little pony had calmed down a piece by that time, so I took her and the pony back to Bagshot Row, where I could fix the shoe. It was easy enough work, didn't take me more than a half-hour, but she was all too grateful for that little bit of work. She thanked me over and over till I thought my ears would fall off, and then she asked if there was anything she could do in return for my help." 

Here, Sam blushed a vivid scarlet. His voice trailed off and the others watched as his hand strayed to his pocket. Gandalf's eyebrows drew together, but before he could say anything Pippin's light voice broke in. 

"Don't stop now, Sam! You've only come to the best part!" 

Sam blushed even more red, and cleared his throat needlessly several times. "Well, I, uh, er, I..." he shook his head. "I don't know what came over me, but I said to her that I didn't want no payment for helping a stranger out, but I asked her...I asked her not to forget me. Me! A little gardener from the Shire, asking a faery to remember him! As soon as I had said it, I thought, Samwise Gamgee, the Gaffer was right! You are a blockhead! But, the girl just smiled, and she was so pretty in the sun there that I just forgot myself, see. And she said to me, 'It happens I shan't forget you, Samwise, as long as you don't forget me.' And then, she pulls a little trinket out of her belt-pouch, and looks at me, and whispers a few words over it. She handed it to me, and she said, 'If ever you are in need, as I was, bring this out, hold it in your hand, and call my name. If I am in reach, I will be at your side in a breath.' 

"She started to mount her pony, when I remembered that she hadn't given me a name. 'Lady!' I said 'But you haven't told me your name!' She turned back with a little laugh, and looked me right in the eye, and she said 'Forgive me. My name, Samwise Gamgee, is Anemosi Lé-Radika. Thank you again, and may your gardens always bloom.' She paused, like a little silver bird, and then she kissed me, on the cheek." Sam touched his cheek softly, red coloring his face again. 

"She got up on her pony and rode away. But at the very last, she turned back and waved. And then she was gone."   
  
There was silence in the little group for a heartbeat after Sam was done talking. Then a cacophony of voices broke out, all of them piling question after question upon Sam in an avalanche of noise. He shook his head, trying to hush them all, and when the voices calmed down, the first voice he heard was Frodo's. 

  
"Sam", said Frodo. "Why didn't you tell anyone of this before? It's--it's like something in a song!"   
Sam sighed softly. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, how could I? She was there and gone, and you wouldn't have believed me." 

"You have to admit, Sam, that it is all very shady, this story, without that little trinket for proof!" Merry looked at Pippin for agreement, who nodded vigorously. 

"But I do have it!" Sam exploded. "Here it is!" Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and pulled it forth.   
Gandalf made a muttered exclamation. "So it is true!" He reached out his hand and gently lifted the trinket from Sam's palm. "It has been many years since I have seen one of these, and longer still since I have seen one intact." 

"What is it?" asked Boromir, leaning in to see it more closely. Sam felt a tiny tentacle of fear latch itself around his heart, and he had to stop himself from tearing it away from Gandalf. 

"It is called a taena," said Gandalf. "Most precious of the faery gifts, each of the fey has one. It is most often used as a gift, for someone who has done one of the fey a great service. This taena," he paused and shook his head in wonder before going on, "bears the marks of the house of the Radiké, the most ancient and powerful of the faery houses." He handed it back to Sam. 

"Samwise, your good deed garnered a greater reward than you can possibly imagine. It will keep you safe, and the fey that gave it to you is now bonded to your welfare until you give the taena back to her. Keep it secret, keep it safe, and keep it near your heart." Gandalf stood. "We have tarried too long here. We must move on." 


	3. The Meeting

DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned them.   


The long days of marching through the forest soon grew blazingly hot and humid. The beauty and serenity of the trees only added to the suffering of the Nine, and even Legolas' unperturbed exterior began to show a few cracks.   
  
For the first day, Sam had been pelted with questions by Merry and Pippin, but as the heat rose, they stopped wasting energy on talking and saved it all to fight the strength-sapping humidity. Sam plodded along behind Frodo, all of his thoughts fixed upon the taena in his pocket. The heat soon ended any coherent thought, and after that he only thought of his ever-heavier pack, the sharp stones under his feet, and the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach   
  
Every night Gandalf's call to halt and rest was greeted with ever-growing relief. The Nine fell to the ground, exhausted and panting. Sweat had plastered Sam's curls to his head, and he could only imagine how the group must smell to an outsider. He was relieved, however, that Frodo only looked as sweaty and tired as the rest of them did, not more so. Supper that evening was effortless, consisting of bread and water, the easiest meal to prepare and eat. There was little conversation, and those that were not on the first watch swiftly dropped into a restless slumber.   
  
The night failed to cool off, and the thickness of the air made breathing a chore. The very closeness of the night put everyone on their guard, laying upon them a sense of dread as thick as a heavy blanket. The silence was tense, stretched as thin as a thread, and then it reached the breaking point.   
  
Merry shot up, screaming into the breathing silence as he awoke from a pitiless, heat-driven nightmare. A roar gathered up from around them, and the orcs descended. Exhausted, hungry, and sore, the Nine fought with sheer desperation. 

Aragorn's sword swooped in giant slashing arcs, slicing orc limb from orc body, but there were more, so many more. Legolas' bow seemed to shriek as it found its way over and over into its orc targets, but the oppressive warmth was on the side of the orcs, born as they were of heat and decay. The little hobbits fought most bravely of all, their small swords cutting into orc after orc, but one by one they were driven into tight spots from which there seemed to be no escape. Merry was the first to fall injured, a slice from an orc blade carving a gash from the base of his neck to his wrist. He managed, barely, to crawl away from the fighting and collapse at the edge of the grove. Pippin, alone, struggled to beat off his attackers, but his small sword was no match, however well-wielded, for the slashing orc-blades. Gimli, a roar of rage boiling in his throat, leapt to Pippin's aid with his grim axe dividing orc limb from orc body. Gandalf and Boromir were fighting as well, dispatching more than their share of orc, but still the nightmares kept coming.   
  
Sam and Frodo, fighting together, were unconscious of the evil sneaking up behind them until Frodo fell with a cry to his knees. He had been belted across the back with a heavy whip, and as Sam tried to reach him, an orc-spear pierced the little gardener in the thigh. Sam stumbled, a river of pure agony pouring into the wound, and as he fell, Frodo saw an orc raising his sword and driving it into Sam's body. Sam screamed weakly, his voice breaking on a high note.   
  
"Sam!" Frodo shrieked, crawling over to his friend's body. "Sam, no!" 

Sam gathered his strength into one last burst. He pressed his hand into his pocket, and pulled forth the taena. "Anemosi, if you can hear me...help...me...it's Sam..." His voice faded. A new darkness was coming; an orc face leaned over him; a blade was plunging into him again. He forced himself to speak through the pain: "Anemosi...please....help..." His voice faded away, and the darkness came crashing down. 

Frodo saw his eyes closing. "No!" he screamed, and began slashing wildly out at anything that stood between him and his Sam. "No! Sam! SAM!" 

A cry rent the air; mysterious, ancient, wild. The orcs stopped attacking, jabbering in their polluted tongue. The creatures were frightened; something in the dark recesses of a racial memory was warning them of a fear long forgotten. Another cry went up, different in tone and pitch, then another, and another. There was a breath of silence, and then a flash of pure silver leapt into the fray, a shriek of unearthly tone piercing the air. 

She seemed to be everywhere at once, and there were others too, other stripes of color that were dodging back and forth so fast no eye could follow them. The grove was filled with the cries of orcs dying at the hands of an enemy unknown, and the battle, if something so one-sided could be called such, was over in a breath. The Nine fought with a new strength, fortified as they were by this new support and hope of victory. When the last broken orc corpse fell to the ground, the new arrivals tilted back their heads and howled in triumph and joy, a sound that would never stop haunting the memories of the Fellowship. 

Frodo was weeping over Sam's still form, protecting his friend with his body, ignorant of the pain lashing across his back, when a strange musky scent filled the air around him, and he looked up to see his first faery. 

She was delicate of form, almost to the point of frailty, but she had an inner radiance that pulsed like the light of a newborn star. Her hair and skin shone silver dimly in the moonlight, and he realized that even after her fight with the orcs, she was not even breathing hard. 

"Foul things!" she breathed. Her voice, obviously meant for happier exclamations, was roughened and angry. "They have polluted our land long enough." Her fingers moved over Sam's body, searching the wounds swiftly but gently. "He must come with us. He will not last much longer." Frodo looked up at her, and saw that she was gazing at him fully. Her eyes shone, full of mysterious, unplumbed depths, the color of mercury. "You are hurt also," she said softly. He nodded numbly. 

"Take care of Sam first," he whispered. She started in shock. 

"Samwise?" she asked, her eyes large and sad. 

"Yes." Frodo watched her as she gazed down at Sam. 

"Oh, Sam..." she breathed. "So far from your Shire, and your garden! Now is the time when I will repay your kindness." She stood up as the rest of the Nine approached, looking about them uncertainly at the fey surrounding them. "Gandalf the Grey!" she gasped. 

"Lady Radika," he answered, and bowed low. "I have long heard of your people's greatness. I thank you for your help." 

"You are most welcome, Master Gandalf. Are any others of your company hurt?" Her voice, now raised, was clear and cool, like a fresh, flowing stream. 

"I fear that young Master Gamgee is in grave danger, my lady. Master Brandybuck here will also be requiring your aid." Frodo looked up, and saw Pippin barely supporting Merry, the gash on his arm slowly leaking dark blood. 

"It shall be done. Kerra!" A fey warrior, with blazing red hair so vivid it was obvious even in the darkness, ran forward. 

"Yes, Anemosi?" Her voice was low, clear, and dangerous. 

"Call Amron and Syleth. We need to get these hobbits back to safety, and quickly." 

Kerra nodded. "It is done." With that, she turned, and let a piercing, liquid cry fall from her lips. The very trees seemed to reverberate, and two answering calls echoed through the forest, seeming to come from the earth itself. Without warning, two pony-sized mounds of earth rose up in front of those gathered. The earth split, and two creatures crawled out. Darkness shrouded them, but an air of warm, quiet places breathed from them like perfume. 

"You called usss?" Two voices in unison hissed. 

"I did," answered Anemosi. "We have need of your services again, my friends. This halfling here is bearer of my taena. One of you must bear him back to my people."   


"I ssshall do ssso." One of the forms crept forward. "The bearer of the taena will be born with joy." 

Anemosi bowed. "I thank you." Behind her, Sam cried out in pain, and tried to speak. Frodo bent over him, struggling to hear his friend's words. 

"Did she...did she answer?" Sam's voice was weak, and his eyes, now open, were clouding. "Is...she...here?" 

"Yes, Sam, dear Sam. She is here." Anemosi was kneeling at his side, touching his face lightly. "I would never abandon you. Rest now. You are safe." 

"Is...Frodo...safe?" Tears welled in Frodo's eyes. "Oh Sam!" he said, and burst into tears. Looking at Anemosi, he grabbed her hand. "Oh please, help him, Lady! I cannot bear to lose him! He is the truest heart this world has ever known!" 

Anemosi nodded mutely. "Whatever breath is in my body will go to him." Her eyes locked with Frodo's, and she suddenly, lightly, kissed him on the forehead. 

"You are a true, pure heart too," she whispered. Wordlessly, she eased Sam gently to his feet, and one of the creatures (Syleth? Amron? They were indistinguishable from one another in the gloom.) crept forth to take him upon its back. 

"Syleth, will you carry the other halfling?" 

"With joy, Lady." Merry was handed over to the other creature, and with a nod from Anemosi, Kerra climbed on behind him, wrapped her arms around Merry and buried her hands in Syleth's fur. Anemosi climbed up gingerly behind Sam, her arms gently encircling him, and her large eyes concerned. After she had adjusted Sam tenderly, she turned to the rest of the warriors standing grouped around the remainder of the Nine. 

"Tasla. Drake." Silently, a man and a woman stepped forward and awaited her next words. "You will guide the rest of the Company back to our people. Take them by the old roads, so that they are safe. As for the rest of you, I know that you are as disgusted as I by the besmirching of our most beautiful land. Follow Embrai and Masirat. Hunt down the rest of the orcs. Let none return to their master! Destroy them all! Teach them to fear the fey once more!" An answering cry of savage joy came from the throats of the fey, echoing in the trees. She began to ride away, but Frodo rushed to her side and caught at her cloak. She turned to look at him, her eyes catching in the moonlight. In that instant, Frodo realized why Sam had not been able to speak of his encounter with her for five long years: she was too ethereal, too beautiful for mere words, however poetic. He found his voice somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. 

"Please Lady...help him." His eyes searched hers, and he found tears hovering at the edges of her eyes like exiles. 

"I will do anything within my power, Master Baggins." With that, she tightened her grip on Amron's fur, and in an instant, the creatures were gone with their precious riders. 

Gandalf made a noise under his breath. "The Shadok!" he said softly. "I did not know they still lived." 

A dark-haired man answered him. "They lived on, Master Gandalf, much as we did. In secret. In peace. And now, like us, in a time of need, they awaken, to aid their friends. I am Drake. Come, we have much road to cover, and I do not think any of you, however hardened, will want to see what becomes of orcs that encounter our people's rage." 

Frodo stood still, watching the direction that Sam and Merry had disappeared in. He was numb, cold to the bone, and tired, so tired...the Ring was heavy upon him. A hand on his shoulder awoke him from his pained thoughts. A blonde woman smiled at him encouragingly. "Come, Master Baggins. Your friends are quite safe. You need have no fear for them. I am Tasla, your other guide, and a member of the House of Radiké. I can give it to you on good authority that Lady Radika will not let any harm to come to either of them while they are in her care, and Kerra herself is more than a force to be reckoned with." 

"Who is she?" whispered Frodo. "She seems to be more than any of us...even you, if you will forgive me." 

"Ah," said Tasla. "She is indeed more than any of us here. She is the daughter of our ruler, Tehr Radik, but more than that, I cannot tell you, for I myself do not know. Whatever power she has in her veins flows deep and restless, and the time has come for her to awaken into the fullness of her ability. But for now," Tasla smiled again, "that shall have to sustain you. We seem to be getting ready to move, and your back shall pain you if you do not care for it. Drink this." She unhooked a small phial from her belt and held it out to him. "One sip should stop the pain." 

Frodo took it gratefully. One sip made him gasp and sputter. "It's..it's like I'm drinking stars!" he murmured to her as he handed it back. She nodded. 

"You were." 

His startled glance was lost upon her as she turned to the others in the Company. They each drank from the small phial, and one by one, the exhaustion of the past few days melted away, their pain dissipated, and they were once again straight and strong. The other fey warriors had already slipped off on their deadly errand, and only Tasla and Drake remained with the Fellowship. 

"It is time!" Drake said. "We shall begin our journey. Tasla and I shall carry anything you wish, for we are strong and untired." 

Frodo walked over to Bill, where Sam's small possessions remained with his own. "He always took the heaviest pack," he whispered, and nearly began to weep as he thought of Sam speeding away into the night. "And he always offered to take more. Oh Sam! We are coming!" Without a word, he shouldered Sam's pack and his own, and thus, weighted down, he took up Bill's reins and began the long journey into the world of the fey.   
  



	4. The Powers

DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Just want 'em!   
A/N: Thank you to all you great people who've reviewed me so far! You guys rock! 

************************** 

"I must see him! You cannot make me wait!" Frodo was shivering with fear, his fists balled up and white to the wrists. An implacable fey warrior stood immovably before him, blocking his way into the rooms where Merry and Sam lay. 

"I cannot allow you into this part of the house, Master Frodo. The healing process is very complicated, and any distraction may cause even greater harm to your friends." Frodo heard Pippin crying softly behind him, and his fury rose. 

"You don't understand! We must see them!" The guard moved not an inch, and continued to stare at them as if they had just throw up all over themselves. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Kerra had appeared on the stairs above the guard. "Master Frodo, Master Pippin, I did not know you had arrived." 

Frodo turned to her with a look that bordered on panic. "Kerra! I must see Sam now! I must know how he fares!" Pippin nodded as he tried to wipe his tears away. 

Kerra arched a thin eyebrow. "Understand, sirs, that the healing process is going on as we speak. Your friends were in grave danger when they arrived, and the final stage of the healing is about to take place. You can see them then." She turned to return to her rooms, but Frodo leapt past the guard and caught her arm. 

"Kerra! I must see him!" The look in his eyes seemed to catch her off guard. She stared at him for a moment, then nodded crisply. 

"Very well. Stand down," she told the guard, and when he opened his mouth to protest, she made a short gesture with her hand that made him cower in fear and slink away. 

"Master Pippin, if you wish to accompany us, you had better hurry. And keep your mouth shut. There are deeper things happening in that room than you have imagination to accept." 

Pippin swallowed and squared his shoulders. Without a word, he raced up the stairs after them. 

************************ 

Kerra led them up many winding stairs, through hallways that echoed with mysterious sounds and seemed to carry faint traces of exotic, ancient scents. Several times, it seemed to Frodo and Pippin that the stairs shifted beneath their feet as they walked, or that the walls leaned in over them to discuss the hobbits' passage. 

Things were happening in those halls, things that they almost saw at the corner of their eyes, but lost as soon as they turned their heads.   


After what seemed like an eternity, they reached a door carved and painted like a vast, vivid landscape. The very images on the door seemed to crawl in endless circles, but before the hobbits could center the eyes on any one image, Kerra had pressed her hand to the door and whispered something under her breath. The door rumbled underneath her hand, and swung open. 

Kerra passed through the door swiftly, and gestured silently for the hobbits to follow. The air around them tasted blunt and sweet, and it moved restlessly in almost visible waves. At the far end of the room, two beds were set up, and two small, still hobbit-figures could be seen on them. 

Between the two beds was Anemosi. As the three drew closer, they could see how exhausted she looked, and how sweat and blood and stained her skin. She was gripping one of Merry and Sam's hands, and breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in ragged spurts. Frodo tried to run to Sam's side, but Kerra's strong arms were blocking both himself and Pippin from escaping. All they could was watch. 

Anemosi's breathing gave way to a low, hummed note. She hummed high, then low, the in between, searching for the right pitch. When she did, the walls themselves seemed to echo the pitch. The air was shivering around them, Anemosi closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. 

The air rippled, the room rippled, the skin on their bodies rippled as a palpable wave of power sailed out from Anemosi's body. For a moment, Frodo felt trapped between heartbeats, and a deep, unknown terror fled across his mind as he met Anemosi's gaze. Her eyes were clouded, deep, and ancient. Then, as quickly as it had come, the power disappeared and Anemosi, with a low groan, released her patients' hands and collapsed to the floor. 

Kerra was at her side before Frodo and Pippin even knew she had moved. Anemosi's eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged and uneven. Her skin had paled to white and she shook all over. 

Without much concern for anyone other than their friends, Frodo ran to Sam's side and Pippin joined Merry. They were pale, but their wounds were closed and almost totally healed. Sam was deeply unconscious but Merry was groaning and soon awoke. 

"Merry!" Pippin was overjoyed, his innocent face lit with childish delight. "You're awake!" 

Merry grinned weakly. "Aye, Pip, I suppose I am." He grimaced as he tried to stretch and found exactly how badly he had been injured. He turned his head experimentally and saw Frodo kneeling beside Sam's bed. 

"Hullo, Frodo! It's good to see you here!" 

Frodo grinned. "I'm glad you're all right, Merry." His eyes went back to Sam, slumbering peacefully. He gripped Sam's hand tightly in his own as tears slipped out the edges of his eyes. *Oh dear Sam, please be well!* he wished fervently. Frodo jumped as he felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder. 

Anemosi was kneeling beside him. "Master Frodo," she whispered. "Does your back still pain you?" She looked wan and tired, but her eyes glittered merrily and she looked young and sweet. *She's not even as old as Pippin is!" thought Frodo in astonishment. *It's a wonder if she's even 20!* He blushed as he realized that the fey were like the elves in at least one respect; they did not age. She could be as old as the mountains and still look radiant. Something about her, however, hinted that her innocence and freshness was real and not a jaded imitation. 

"Master Frodo?" She cocked her head questioningly, resembling a precious little silver bird. 

"Oh...my back. It pains me a little, but I will be fine." He smiled at her and turned back to Sam, but a moment later he felt her hands on his back and heard her breathing a soft word that awakened a feeling of awe and fear within him. He felt the skin on his back writhe for an instant, then stop. The pain was over, and   
without looking he knew that the lashes from the orc whip were gone. 

He whirled around. Anemosi had risen, and was now walking away to help Kerra lift Merry from the bed he had been laying on. 

"Can you walk, Master Meriadoc?" 

He nodded bravely. "I think so," he answered, and immediately proved himself a liar by falling over at his first step. Pippin bent down and slid an arm under Merry's, and eased him from the ground. 

"Come on now, my friend! I'll be your legs. Just lean on me, and take it easy." Pippin looked up at Anemosi. "Where to, Lady?" 

Anemosi graced him with a gentle smile. "Kerra will show you to one of the guest chambers, Master Peregrine. Master Frodo and I will take Sam to his own room." Kerra bowed respectfully, and, taking Merry's other arm, led them from the room. 

Anemosi moved swiftly to Sam's bed and looped an arm under his back to lift him into a sitting position. Frodo went to the other side and helped her ease Sam to his feet. A lump formed in his throat as he realized just how much weight Sam had lost in the time since they had left the Shire. *It's all because of me!* Frodo wailed inwardly. *I'm making them suffer for my sake, and for the sake of the blasted Ring!* 

"Anemosi, wouldn't it be better just to leave him here until he can walk? He doesn't look like he should be moved." 

She shook her head. "No, Frodo. We must move the patients as soon as they are healed. The powers accumulated in this room, while it helps in the act of healing, could cause more harm than good if one is left here too long. We should go now, before it starts to take an effect on him." 

He nodded mutely. They were soon occupied in getting Sam to the door with the least amount of jostling. They were silent through the stairways, which seemed empty and mundane now that Anemosi's great work of power had drained them of their magic. 

They tried to be as careful as they could, but the stairs were narrow and Sam groaned and wakened briefly several times before they got him down the stairs. The going was easier once they reached the landing, but Anemosi's exhaustion was beginning to become overpowering, and it was with relief that they laid him down upon a soft bed in a cool, airy room. 

"You should go now, Frodo. You have done all you can for him for now." Anemosi was shifting the pillows underneath Sam's head to make it easier for him to rest. 

"You're not going? Why can't I stay?" 

Anemosi shook her head, a few wisps of silver hair twining about her face. "There is still much work to be done to make sure he is safe. Merry will be fine as long as he rests and eats to recover his strength, but Sam is still in danger." 

"Then I must stay!" Frodo felt tears building in his eyes. "He did not abandon me in Rivendell, and I cannot abandon him now!" 

"Frodo!" Anemosi took his hands in hers. "Go rest! You carry a heavy burden already; do not let worry over Sam drive you to panic. He will be well taken care of. You have my word." 

There was nothing he could say to that. He already owed her so much for saving all of them, not just Sam and Merry, and to disregard her wishes would be unpardonably ungrateful. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes revealing all that he could not say to her. Barely stifling a sob, he left the room. 

Alone, Anemosi felt the weakness come crashing down upon her. *Not yet!* she admonished herself. *There is still work to be done* Her eyes were tender and sweet as she gazed at Sam, and she climbed upon the bed beside him. A long night was ahead of her, and she forced herself to stay awake as she placed her small hands on Sam's cheeks and began a low, subtle song of power to heal her little gardener.   
  



	5. The Awakenings

DISCLAIMER: Want 'em. Don't got 'em.   


Merry awoke, bleary-eyed and feeling dizzy, but these feelings soon cleared as he realized that he was laying in a soft, warm bed with a gentle breeze blowing through his hair. He sat up quickly, too quickly for his aching head, and he fell back into the pillows with a moan. 

"I see you are awake, Master Brandybuck!" Kerra came into his line of vision, a smile lighting her thin face. "Welcome to the city of Siobhangé, the ancient home of the fey! You are one of the few outsiders to ever see her beauty." 

"I should like it much more if I had something in my stomach, Lady," Merry said pertly, then immediately regretted it. Kerra laughed delightedly. She had a wonderful laugh, full-throated and rich, and Merry found himself smiling back in spite of his embarrassment. 

"And food you shall have! I have heard something of the appetites of hobbits, and so I came prepared. Here!" She picked up a tray that trailed tantalizing aromas and brought it over to the bed. That tray could not have been more precious to Merry than if it had been filled with a fourteenth share of the wealth of the Lonely Mountain. A old snippet of advice from his mother, which, like most of the advice in his life, had gone unheeded, popped into his head. 

"Is it--safe?" 

Kerra threw back her head and roared with laughter. "My dear Master Brandybuck! I assure you, this food is perfectly safe! No enchantments, poisons, potions, or anything of the like is placed upon this food. It is quite the best our kitchens can offer you." 

"In that case," said Merry, "I shall not waste time!" He was lifting the lid off a dish when he stopped. "What about Sam?" he asked quietly. "How is he?" 

Kerra looked away. "When we arrived last night, the poison from the orc-blade had spread throughout his body. Anemosi is with him now. She is a powerful healer, and if he is to live, it shall be by her hands." She paused. "Do not think of it. Eat, and rest. Master Pippin will no doubt be awake soon, and you will need all your strength for when he arrives, I am sure." 

She left her perch at the end of the bed and went to the window. After a few moments of silence broken only by the sounds of Merry eating, she turned around and faced him. She had piercing, vivid blue eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and the purity of their color made him pause in his feeding. She was lovely, by all accounts, but he remembered a glimpse of Anemosi as she lifted Sam to the ground. All silver, Sam had said, and he had been right. Even her pale, pale skin had seemed to shimmer in the night. His thoughts were interrupted as Kerra spoke again. 

"By all the power in Siobhangé, I hope that those orcs suffer for what they have done. I should be hunting them, not waiting for news here in the city!" Her eyes slitted, and Merry saw why the old songs spoke of the fey as beings not to be trifled with. Kerra was primal, wild, and fierce; something completely outside his expectations of the fey. 

Before he could become truly afraid, Kerra's face relaxed, and she was warm and friendly again. "More food?" she asked with a mischievous grin. Merry chuckled as she took the tray from him. "You have discovered the secret of the hobbits, kind Lady!" he said with his mouth full. 

"At least this one!" she said, and left laughing. 

************************* 

Anemosi's eyes fluttered open. *The Sun*, she thought vaguely. *The Sun has risen. Hours have passed, and he is alive.* She looked below her at Sam, who,   
alive though pale and weak-looking, was slumbering peacefully. She withdrew her hands from his cheeks and wiped the sweat from her brow. He would sleep for several hours, most likely, and then awaken, hungry and weak. 

She rose from the bed, fatigue and pain in every muscle. It had taken time to chase out every element of orc-venom from his body, but she was successful in saving the little hobbit's life. She smiled at his sleeping face, her thoughts flying back to her first sight of the gardener. How had she looked to him, terrified and exhausted? He looked more careworn, and he was carrying a heavy sadness. She had felt it in her movements in his body as she worked to save his life. She had sent her mind into every part of his body, and there was a pain hiding there her healing could not erase. 

She straightened, trying to ease the kinks out of her body. There were bowls of clean water and piles of cloths, and she set to work washing the sweat and blood away. Her robes were ruined, and she stripped swiftly, washing her hair and body as quickly as she could. She changed into a clean dress, and carried a bowl of clean water and a few cloths over to the bed table. Perching lightly on the edge of the bed, she dipped a cloth into the water and began to gently bathe Sam's face. Her masterful, delicate fingers washed away the dirt and grime without causing Sam any pain, although in his deep slumber he would feel little. 

She sighed. He was sleeping, yes, but the pain of healing would soon awaken him, and a long day and night of careful vigilance lay before her. She could feel the beginnings of a fever growing deep within her body, and she was utterly devoid of energy, but her own pain would have to wait until he was totally healed. 

A welcoming cry sounded somewhere beneath her window. She rose slowly from the bed to avoid disturbing Sam, and walked over to peer out. Squinting, she could see Legolas amusing some of the younger fey children by having them throw objects into the air to see if he could hit them with an arrow before they hit the ground. As the children squealed with delight, Legolas raised his eyes to where she stood, and he started with surprise. Recovering himself swiftly, he raised an elegant hand in greeting, a gesture that she returned. As he turned back to the children, she retreated into the cool of the room. Although it was just sunrise, she could hear pounding feet coming up the stairs, and she grinned at the sleeping Sam. 

"Sleep now, Sam. I don't think they're going to let you rest for much longer!" 


	6. The Attraction

DISCLAIMER: I love LOTR, but I don't own it. DAMN!!!   


Something wanted to wake him up, and Sam was fighting it valiantly. *I want to stay asleep!* he thought dreamily. *It's warm and soft here! Let me be! I hurt so...* 

"Sam! Oh dear Sam!" That was a voice he recognized, and not for all the gardens in the world could he refuse it. Sluggishly he rose from sleep to open his eyes and found his sight filled with three tear-stained, grinning hobbit faces. 

"You're awake!" Frodo burst into tears again, squeezing Sam's hand over and over as he laughed. "Oh Sam, it's so good to see you awake!" Merry and Pippin hugged each other tightly as they crowed delightedly. 

Sam laughed weakly. "Oh, Mr. Frodo, it's just wonderful to see you here! I'm glad you're alright. And you too, Merry and Pippin!" He tried to sit up, but slid back down among the fluffy pillows. With a little help from Frodo, he was soon sitting up and squinting into the light that streamed in through the windows. He exhaled deeply as his surroundings came into focus. "What a place! Why, I haven't seen anything this grand since Rivendell!" Unexpectedly, his breath came short into his lungs, and he began to cough weakly. 

"Rest easy now, Sam! We're all here and you have nothing to worry about!" Merry clapped him on the shoulder resoundingly and regretted it immediately as Sam winced. It was then that Sam realized he was naked under the covers but for a few bandages wrapped about him. He also discovered, to his extreme discomfort, that almost every movement sent flashes of hot pain through his body. He groaned low in his throat and fell back among the pillows. His sight was failing, and a rushing sound filled his ears. 

"Sam?" Frodo gripped his hand tightly, fear in his face. A few tense moments passed as Sam shuddered upon the bed, but they passed quickly. He was soon breathing easily again, though pale and weak. The four hobbits had just started talking again when the curtain flew open and Tasla stepped inside. 

"Forgive me, sirs, but your presence is requested by Lord Radik, and Master Gamgee looks like he could do with rest." She smiled sweetly. "You may return after you have eaten and spoken with Lord Radik." She pulled the curtain back and ushered three reluctant hobbits out who left only with reassurances that they would return soon. 

Alone, Sam curled up into a fetal position. His body ached, he was hungry, and he was cold. It seemed hours passed in this situation, but it was probably only a few moments before the curtain drew back again, heralding a new arrival. Too sore to move, Sam laid still, concentrating on breathing as softly as possible. The footsteps crossed to the bed, and warm fingertips brushed his forehead. He opened his eyes to meet Anemosi's gaze full on. He gasped and sat up straight, the sheet falling from him as he did so. He gasped again, both in pain and embarrassment as he realized just how naked and sore he was. 

Anemosi barely held back a giggle as she saw a blush flooding up into his face from his neck. She must have let some small sound loose, and his large brown eyes met hers, hurt and humiliated. She cursed herself soundly in silence, and busied herself at the bed table to allow him to wrap the sheet around him once more. 

"Lady, I'm sorry about that--" 

She turned to face him and smiled. "No need to apologize. I'm just stopping by to see how you're holding up." 

"Well enough, Lady. I'm a bit sore, as it is, but not that bad." He smiled bravely, and winced as a cut on his face stung him. 

"Let me have a look then. I want to see how you're healing up." Before he could protest, she had gently drawn the sheet away from his body. 

"Oh!" He gasped, but the expression on her face never changed from concern. 

"Lie down, it's easier for me to see...that way." A rosy tint touched her cheeks, and she blinked. *Oh, why is this so difficult?* she asked herself. *You've seen other patients naked before, you fool! Just do your duty.* Thus admonished, she gently removed the bandages on his torso, seeing but not acknowledging the hard ropy muscles that had been hidden by his baggy clothing. Forcing her mind back to her work, she noted with happiness that the wounds were healing cleanly, though they would leave scars that he would never lose. 

Sam's head was whirling. In his younger days, he had played the games of chance, of you-touch-mine-and-I'll-touch-yours, but this touch, nowhere near as personal, was a thousand times more erotic. It took a strength of will he hoped he possessed to control himself from rising in response. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he felt her deft fingers lifting the bandage on his thigh, so close...so achingly close. *I'm going to burst!* he thought desperately. Just as he thought he could no longer hold out, the sheet was replaced and he opened his eyes with both relief and a deep longing. 

She smiled at him, a fragile flush fading from her cheeks. "You're a tough one, Sam. I think you'll be ready to get up and move around tonight." His brown eyes widened, and he was about to speak when she continued. "But you must promise me, Sam, not to over-exert yourself. You are not quite well yet." 

He nodded eagerly. "Of course, I'll stay calm. But right now, I think I'd feel so much better if I had something in my belly...I haven't eaten a scrap since before you came to us in the wood, and I'm right famished!" 

Anemosi grinned. "You had better not eat too much, Sam. You haven't been eating much lately, I can see, and it would only hurt you to strain your stomach now." 

His eyes widened again. A hobbit's stomach, strained? It simply didn't happen! 

As she rose gracefully to pick up a tray from the floor next to the door, he took the opportunity to drink in every aspect of her appearance. She was more lovely than he remembered her, even though that one encounter had been enough to lodge her in his deepest dreams ever since. Unlike most of the fey women, who seemed a combiantion of velvety muscle and generous curves, she was ethereally thin, her figure slender but feminine. For now, her amazing hair was draw back into a knot of braids, and a few had slipped from their pins to fall about her face and shoulders. Her skin was a silver-dusted pallor, and her eyes, her most arresting feature, were full of liquid lights, always shifting and changing. Before he could look away, her gaze had met his, and a shy smile crossed her mouth as their eyes locked and held. A breathless instance passed, and something small and tender stirred in both their hearts. 

She looked away and, in her newfound nervousness, she clattered the tray as she set it down on the bedside table. She cursed softly under her breath, and blushed as she felt his gaze on her again. Her hands shook as she backed away, avoiding his eyes. 

"There...there are clothes for you, there, on the chair." she pointed vaguely in that direction. "I will let you eat in peace." She was almost at the door before his voice stopped her. 

"Lady, if you don't me asking you for one more thing...I don't think you've eaten since you've been taking care of me, and, if you don't mind my saying so, I don't think there's anyone I'd rather share it with." His eyes searched hers, hopeful, shy, yearning. 

She sighed deeply, but something had rooted itself inside her chest and would not be dislodged. She blushed and returned to the chair beside his bed. "I don't mind at all, Sam, but if you insist on calling me 'Lady', I shall waste this perfectly good fruit by throwing it at you." She smiled mischievously, and Sam laughed. 

"Aye then, now that's taken care of, let's eat!" And with all the energy that only a hungry hobbit can display, he set into the food set before him, and gave himself up to the pure enjoyments of good food, warm comfort, and pleasing companionship. They laughed often, sometimes shyly, sometimes loudly and lustily, and every time their eyes met or their hands bumped, they were aware again of that movement somewhere near their hearts. 

He had never been happier.   



	7. The Chills

DISCLAIMER: I own not. 

Time passed slowly among in Siobhangé, and it was without any notion of time passing in the outside world that the Fellowship spent the next few days. Sam and Merry healed swiftly under Anemosi's care, and for the most part the hobbits were free to run wild about the city. The younger fey children adored them, and listened with huge eyes to Frodo's tales of Bilbo's adventures. Sam, for his part, was happy for his master's newfound joy and peace. Here, among the merry, wild fey, the burden of the Ring was lifted from Frodo and he was once again as he was back in the Shire. His blue eyes were always laughing and joyous, and his face had lost its transparent appearance.   
  
*I wish we could stay here forever,* thought Sam as he wondered along in the rose bushes in Lord Radik's gardens. He had felt a pressing need to get away from the action within the house, and now that he was allowed to walk about as he pleased, he spent much of his time admiring the beauty of the gardens. He was still not far enough away from the house, however, to be oblivious to the shouts of rage that floated down towards him. Apparently the fey were harder to "liberate" food from than Farmer Maggot, and Merry and Pippin had been caught in the pantry once more.   
  
He chuckled, and realized that he was swiftly growing tired. The days had passed pleasantly enough, but a dark spot had prevented him from enjoying himself completely. Anemosi, after sharing the meal with him in his room a few days before, had taken to her bed and stayed there in a restless fever, the after-effects of the power spent upon healing Merry and himself. He missed her company and delicious laughter, and felt a surge of guilt as he thought of how his health had been obtained at her expense. Kerra had assured him over and over that she was going to be fine, but he worried at it much as a dog worries a bone.   
  
He reached the end of the gardens and wearily turned back towards the house. He entered in through a side door that, unfortunately, led him painfully close to the kitchens. Iaka, the head cook, barreled out of the door and nearly ran him down as she pursued Merry and Pippin. She paused for a moment to heave him to his feet, brushing him off as she uttered various evil-sounding curses against the two hobbits and their descendants. Sam barely choked back a laugh as a particularly obscene phrase passed her lips.   
  
"Well, Master Samwise, at least there's two of you folk who aren't good-for-nothin', lazy, connivin' little imps! They've raided my pantry for the third time today, and no one's taken up Miss Anemosi's lunch yet. Poor girl, she's right tired out, and she'll wake up soon with no victuals as to eat!" Iaka shook her head venomously and started to walk away. "Those cheeky little devils! When I get my hands on 'em, they'll rue the day they set foot in my kitchen!"   
  
"Iaka," Sam stammered shyly. "I'll take the food up to her...I know you've got lots to do, and I'm as glad as anything to be a help to you." He couldn't believe the words that had popped out of his mouth. Was his need to be near Anemosi that strong?   
  
Iaka sniffed. "There's no one 'ceptin' me and Lord Radik and Healer Drake that are 'sposed to be visitin' her, Master Samwise. But, seein' as you're so helpful and useful like, I'd much appreciate it." She retreated into the kitchen briefly to return with a small tray of food. She handed it to Sam and shooed him off. 

"Remember, Master Samwise, keep quiet, and try not to let anyone see you as goin' up there! 'Sposed to be left alone, she is, and don't you tarry too long!"   
  
Now, as everyone knows, Samwise Gamgee is not exactly cut out for stealth. He simply climbed the stairs to her rooms, hoping that no one would stop to question his presence in this branch of the house. He was in luck, and with a sigh of relief he pushed open the curtain to step into her room. He left the tray beside the door for her to retrieve later, but as he was leaving a noise from the bed   
  
She was sleeping fitfully, groaning and stirring on the bed. Sweat had soaked her light gown, and even though the bed was lightly covered she had thrown off the sheets onto the floor. He crept over to the bed, trying not to awaken her, and sat himself down gently beside her. Warmth stirred in his heart. She was too beautiful, too wonderful...not even his precious gardens back home in the Shire held so much pleasure for him as did one glance at Anemosi.   
  
*Now, Samwise Gamgee, that orc stuff must've gotten to your brain! Soon you'll be spouting poems and wearing a crown o'flowers.* He shook his head in wonderment at this new tenderness within him, and almost without thinking took up her thin hand in his. It was warm, and soft, and he stroked it gently. He was nervous, yes, nervous that she would wake up at any moment and shout at him to get away, but something deep inside him told she would never tell him to leave her. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, then touched each fingertip to his lips as well. Staring at her again, her eyes closed and mouth slightly open, he was overcome with a need to be as near to her as he could. He lowered his head to her face and brushed his lips against hers, and when that drew no negative response from her, he kissed her more fully, tasting her for the first time. 

It came as a shock, then, when she responded. Her lips, at first still under his, began to return his attentions gently, then with more passion. He froze, terrified, and pulled away. Her eyes were open and startled. 

"Sam!" she breathed. She had paled considerably, and the light sheen of sweat on her skin made her look pearlized in the cool gloom of her room. Her expression was unreadable. 

"Oh, Anemosi...I-I'm sorry..." he mumbled, feeling a blazing hot blush flooding his cheeks. He had an overwhelming urge to run from the room, but embarrassment held him frozen beside her. They stared at each other for a brief moment, not speaking until she shivered violently. In a matter of seconds, she had gone from feverish to freezing cold. 

"Oh Sam, I'm so cold all of a sudden!" She fell back onto the bed, shaking uncontrollably. Her hand clutched his wrist tightly. "Don't go! Please!" Her eyes were large and afraid, and glassy with pain. 

"Hush, Anemosi, I won't leave you!" That was all well and good, but his company wouldn't help her for long; what could he do? He reached down to the floor and picked up the sheets, laying them gently over her body. Real worry began to form as she moaned, curling up under the sheets as if to try and capture the fleeting warmth of her own body. 

Back in the Shire, when a newborn lamb or calf had been found in the dead of winter, Sam had often taken it to bed with him, holding its small body to warm it with the heat from his own. In his simple country mind, and seeing no other alternative (though, one can be sure, if he had wanted to find, or had even bothered to look for, blankets, he could have solved his problem that way.), he slid under the sheets and drew her against him. She was like ice against him. As her shivering grew, he drew her closer against himself and closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. 

She knew what he had done, vaguely, through the cold. Her mind was in a spiral, her immediate discomfort taking precedence over this new twist of events. As she began to warm up, she was happy to stay as she was, with his breath stirring the soft hairs behind her ear. She felt sleep descending upon her, but she knew that as long as she stayed in Sam's arms, she would sleep peacefully. 

He didn't move. To move would be to disturb her, and she needed her rest. *Bless me, I need my rest too,* he thought drowsily. The combined warmth of their bodies was soothing. The last thing he remembered as he slipped into slumber was the feel of that one, burning kiss. 


	8. The Connection

Unfortunately, peaceful rest was not what was intended for them at this point. On their mad rush through the house, Merry and Pippin ended up panting outside on the landing. They had to hide somewhere to enjoy their loot, because Iaka was still out for blood. Below them, they could hear Iaka's brazen voice trumpeting its distress over the lost cheese and fruit. Pippin, seeing a quiet, shady room ahead of him, rushed headlong towards it with Merry in hot pursuit. 

Pippin burst through the curtain and stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Sam curled around Anemosi in the bed. As Merry catapulted through the door and landed on him, they both let out a squawk that was probably audible throughout the city. Sam woke up bleary-eyed and wondering what was happening. Anemosi woke up next, and knew that the worst possible thing was now happening. 

Pippin and Merry stared at them in shock, and, to Sam's complete humiliation, something akin to amazement. 

"Sam!" Pippin looked insanely proud of Sam. "Congratulations!" 

"Indeed!" Merry joined in, leaping off the floor. "Didn't take you long!" 

Sam was blistering red. Anemosi looked sick. "Uh, it's not what you think!" Sam yelled desperately. 

Merry snickered. "Oh right, and that's a carrot in your pants!" 

Sam buried his head in his hands. Anemosi burrowed under the sheets. It was at that moment that Iaka, attracted by the noise, made a most auspicious entrance. 

"Ah-ha! I've found you at last, you scoundrels! Off with you!" She grabbed them tightly by the ears and yanked them out of the room, still shouting at the top of her voice as Merry and Pippin yelped with pain. 

Mercifully, Iaka had been so intent upon capturing Merry and Pippin that she hadn't registered Sam's tomato-red face glowing from the bed. Gathering the shreds of his splintered dignity about him as best he could, he peered under the covers. Anemosi had covered her ears with her hands and had squeezed her eyes shut. 

"Uh, Anemosi...they're, erm...they're gone, so you can come out now, um...if that's what you want." 

She pushed back the covers and sat up. Color was starting to return to her face, and, as if at a signal, when her gaze met Sam's, they burst out laughing. 

"Oh, the look on their faces when they saw us!" She fell over onto her side, wiping away tears that streamed down her face. "I've never seen anything so funny!" It seemed as if the surprise had restored her energy and she looked much better than she had when he first arrived.   
  
Sam was howling with laughter. "Nor have I! Oh bless me, but you can always trust a Brandybuck and a Took to cause trouble!" 

She managed to sit up, still shaking with barely controlled laughter. "By the Lady, you certainly know how to embarrass a girl!" She stopped as she saw a flash of hurt cross Sam's face. *Idiot!* she thought fiercely. *Poor Sam goes out on a limb for you, and you cut the tree down from underneath him!* She had known before that his feelings for her had been growing since he had been in her care, but what she hadn't been sure of was her own affection for the hobbit. Which, as it seemed, was growing in proportion to his for her. 

"Oh Sam, I'm so sorry!" She took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. His brown eyes met hers, stunning her with the depth of feeling there. "Please forgive me; I was terribly rude." 

He squeezed her hand back. "It's alright, Anemosi. It's alright." It was all he could to not wrest her back down to the bed, and he tried to avoid staring at her body, especially in the places where her thin gown had been soaked to transparency. *Oh bless me, this is rough!* he thought desperately. This was nothing like going behind the barn with Rosie Cotton; this was an intense passion and need for not only Anemosi's body, but for everything that was connected to it. He swallowed hard and released her hand. 

"I should be going...you've got to get some rest for the banquet tonight, and there's a bit of food set down there by the door." He got up from the bed, brushing the sheets away and walking to the door. 

"Sam." Her voice stopped him as he was drawing aside the curtain. There was a flush creeping up her neck into her face, and her eyes were large and filled with the same longing as his. 

"I think...I know we should talk, tonight. Out in the rose garden. After the banquet." She looked at him nervously, twisting her hands in her lap. "Will you meet me?" In a moment, the nervousness melted away and she became the Lady Radika, powerful, regal, and irresistible. 

A fey princess was asking for his company. How could he refuse? With eyes like hers, there was no way he could resist, nor did he want to. 

"Aye. I'll be there." There was such an intensity of feeling in those few simple words that the air between them seemed to shimmer. A smile graced her face as she lay back down on her bed, and it was almost beyond his strength to leave her there alone, when he felt that now and forever his place was at her side. How had this feeling come on so swiftly, and so strongly? And why, oh why, did it feel so right? 

He resolutely left the room, and left his heart behind him.   



	9. The Fear

DISCLAIMER:Yeah, I don't own them, blah blah blah....   
A/N: The fey, in my stories, are about as tall as hobbits. Maybe a little taller in some cases. But, for the most part, they're the height of hobbits. 

Kerra stood upon the platform in one of the ancient trees that surrounded the Autumn Gate. Her guard duty was almost over, as she had pulled the predawn to lunch shift for today. Although she was one of the highest and most respected fey warriors, she still worked with her subordinates on simple guard duty. It only served to increase her legendary status. 

Her fey senses, not accessible to the other races, were hinting at a darkness building at the edge of the wood. It could not enter yet, its powers not strong enough to overcome Ré-Nancet's formidable defenses, but it was gaining strength. She could feel it stirring, its sources of power coming from far away, and the origin's name chilled her to the bone. 

Mordor... 

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She was a fool to be worried; the fey were strong and powerful. It must be the wine from the banquet the night before that was clouding her mind. Lord Radik had known about this danger long before she had, and he was planning the defenses even as she sat there. 

But...what if there was a chink? What if there was a breach in the defenses? Even the tiniest hole in a floodwall could let in the waters. She tried to push away her dread, but ever since the One Ring had entered Siobhangé, she had been even more watchful than ever. She bore no ill will against the Fellowship; no indeed, she could only admire them, especially Frodo, for taking this burden upon them. And she was no friend of the Dark Lord; too many of her friends and kin had suffered at his hands for her to feel anything for him but the bitterest hate. She would support the Ringbearer in whatever capacity she was able to. 

Anemosi, too, knew of the danger. With powers developing that few could perceive, the Lady Radika was sensitive to the growing threat like no other. She was ignorant of one important fact, however: the One Ring would corrupt any who possessed it, but in Anemosi's case, the Ring would sap her strength the longer she was exposed to it. It could not corrupt her mind; the Power that rested in her, like it had in her mother, was too strong for even Sauron to claim her without a terrible loss to himself. The One Ring, however, would weaken her, making her Power fight for control over her body against the influence of the Ring, and the battle would destroy her. 

*Fool!* Kerra thought sadly. She loved Anemosi as a younger sister, and was as fiercely devoted to her welfare as Sam was to Frodo's, but she was not blinded by her affection for Anemosi. She knew of Anemosi and Sam's attraction to each other (very little passed Kerra by), but she dreaded just how far the romanticism of the situation would carry Anemosi. Heedless of the danger to herself or the rest of the Fellowship, Anemosi wanted to accompany them on their quest to destroy the Ring. She was too foolhardy for her own good, accepting no moderation in anything she set out to do. Anemosi was not a creature designed for anything except the extremes in everything she did. When she loved, it was with her entire being, and forever; and, when committed to a cause, she would never abandon it, not for anything. Her very greatest strength, her very pureness of existence, would be her undoing. The Power that protected her from the Ring would consume her, and she would suffer like no other creature ever could. And Sam, poor little Sam from the Shire, he would suffer as well, for his fate was so intertwined with Anemosi's that one could barely tell them apart. 

Kerra sank to the floor. She had never felt more alone than in that devastating moment of truth. Her world hung on the brink of death, hovering over a grave, and everyone would suffer before it was over. The armies of hate were marching, and only a few last bulwarks of the good stood in their way. Yes, the powers of the elves and the fey were great, but there were so few left...and a hobbit carried the fates of them all. Would he have the strength to save them, at the bitter end? 

Kerra may have been a warrior, hardened by centuries of battles and blood and death, but she was not made of steel, and she could still weep. And so she did, weeping until her heart was empty. *My world is changing,* she thought. *The evil is coming, and we are powerless to stop the advance. How will this end? Oh, Sweet Lady, it will end in pain....*   



	10. The Warning

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. I just added stuff:)   


At the banquet that evening, the Nine were sitting at the highest table, grouped around the Lord Radik himself. It was the first time they had seen him since their arrival in Siobhangé, and again he conveyed an air of formidable charm and capabilities. He was a powerful man, lean and dark, with glittering, hard eyes, and an overpowering air. Contrary to first impressions, however, the Nine found him to be courteous, dignified, and kind. He was adored by the fey, and all the Nine, the hobbits especially, had been whispered slips of rumor about his greatness when the fey still dwelt openly in Middle-Earth. He obviously adored his daughter, and it was apparent where Anemosi had inherited her steady grace, her sweet nature, and her earthy sense of humor. This was Sam's first encounter with the fey king, and he was totally overwhelmed by Lord Radik's tremendous personal magnetism.   
  
The meal was a loud joyous affair, with many shouted conversations being thrown across the great oaken tables. The Nine were unprepared for such boisterous enthusiasm; after the myths they had heard from childhood on up, they had expected an austere, solemn race that never smiled and spent all its conversation on esoteric subjects, but once again, their preconceptions were thrown out the window. The fey were a study in delicious contradictions. The Lord Radik, for all his air of sober dignity and wisdom, shouted bawdy jokes at the shier members of the dinner party and even dared to jest at Gimli's sexual abilities. Instead of a growl and a vicious attack, the dwarf laughed merrily and shouted down the table that if the king had so much to brag about, why was only one daughter sitting at the table?   
  
Tehr Radik threw back his raven head and laughed richly. "Hear ye, my people! Never again shall I claim dwarves are cold and averse to humor, for here is a dwarf who can bandy insults with me! I toast you, Gimli, son of Gloin!" He raised his cup in Gimli's direction and drained it at a swallow.   
  
Seated between Frodo and Legolas, Sam ate with a hunger he couldn't have rivaled back in the Shire. It seemed the food was working a spell of its own, making the eater want more of the sustenance the more he ate of it. He wiped his plate with a slice of heavy, dark bread, and stretched himself cautiously. He was still sore in places, but Anemosi's magic had healed him almost fully.   
  
Anemosi...his thoughts flew to her across the table, and his gaze followed. She was seated at her father's left, and was joining in the conversation he was having with Gandalf. He drank her in as she ate, fascinated by the clear angles of her body. She looked recovered from her weakness, but she was still paler than usual.   
Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and the movement of it against her skin made his heart ache. He sighed gently, and as if at a signal, her eyes turned to his. 

Their gazes met, and a sudden clarity of knowledge dropped into his mind. Every moment spent with her thus far had been leading up to this realization: he had fallen in love with her.   
  
His eyes dropped to his plate again, and suddenly food had no attraction for him. He longed again to be alone with her in his room, talking, laughing, merely enjoying her warm presence. It was torment to be caught here, among shouting, exuberant people when all he desired was to be quiet, and to sit beside her for a spell. Their secret meeting in the roses later that night couldn't come soon enough.   
  
Across the table, Anemosi watched him. She knew, within herself, that her heart now lay with Sam. It did not amaze her that her feelings had taken root so quickly, and so deep. They had been there since that first meeting five years ago in the Shire, when she had seen something within his character that none of the fey men possessed. She had seen it again only a few days before, when she had come to his aid in the forest and the first thought in his mind was the safety of Frodo. Yes, it was that devotion that she had seen, that loyalty, and that brave heart hidden under a simple rustic exterior. Her healing of his wounds had created a connection between them, for no such intimate act could be undertaken without losing part of oneself in the other. She knew then, that in the way that the fey have, that she had been bonded to him for all time. The thought was overpowering. She pushed her plate away, feeling slightly sick as she thought of the staggering implications, not least of which was the burning desire to feel his gardener's hands on her body.   
  
She had to get away from the table; the sounds and smells assaulting her senses were sickening. Without thinking, she threw her chair back and stood, clutching the sides of the table in a death grip. Her father looked up at her in concern, noting the set of her jaw and a slight trembling throughout her body.   
  
"Anemosi, my dearest, what is it?" His dark eyes met hers, and she forced herself to smile. What could she say to him? For obvious reasons, the most honest response of "I'm hot for that hobbit over there, would you all mind clearing out so I can have my way with him?" was out, so she racked her brain for a convenient excuse.   
  
"I, um, er, ugh..."A splendid beginning! Now the whole high table was looking at her; she couldn't been more conspicuous if her dress had fallen off. What had her father and Gandalf been talking about? Ah! That was it! Saved at last!   
  
"Father, I could not help but overhear you as spoke with Master Gandalf, and I am astonished to hear that we have, among us this evening, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I beg your leave to show my admiration for him, and the rest of our esteemed guests, in our time-honored way." She could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall upon her, and was painfully conscious of the silence that had fallen upon the gathering. She smiled bravely at her father, wishing fervently that she could have stayed in bed.   
  
Lord Radik was about to respond to her when the door at the far end of the hall flew open. A blast of cold air entered the hall, and a penetrating sense of fear settled upon all those gathered. What was entering?   



	11. The Separation

DISCLAIMER: Ah well. Maybe in my next life I'll be a hobbit... 

A silhouetted figure staggered into the hall, clutching its arms around its waist and half-sobbing. Frodo recognized it as Embrai, one of the fey that Anemosi had dispatched to deal with the orcs in the forest. As she came into the light, he could see that she had been ripped across the belly, and her tightly clasped arms were the only things stopping her from losing her entrails. She was half-dead as she walked. With a supreme effort of will, Embrai managed to stumble to the high table and gasp out a few devastating words. 

"They are coming...Nazgul..." 

She collapsed and lay still. Drake was by her side in an instant, but there was nothing he could do; the brave warrior had only barely completed her mission before the Nazgul blade destroyed her. He let out a low moan that turned to a roar of anger as he rose and faced the now-silent gathering. 

"She is dead!" 

Lord Radik had risen to his feet, all good humor vanished. He was dark, brooding, and terrible beyond measure now. "So it begins," he murmured darkly. All eyes were upon him as he fell silent. 

Sam had gone cold at the mention of the Nazgul, and beside him he could hear Frodo gasping and shuddering in fear. Frodo's eyes were fixed on Embrai's body where it lay, broken and battered by creatures beyond nightmares. *This would have been my fate,* he thought dully. He groped under the table for Sam's hand and clasped it tightly. It was as cold as his own. 

Lord Radik raised his eyes from the table, and without warning smashed his fists through the table with a roar of fury so deadly it made Gandalf rock backwards. 

Anemosi was pale and shaking, but the anger in her eyes made her gaze blister. As Sam gazed around at the fey, they had metamorphosed from merry, kind creatures into deadly, feral beings of untold might. They were unrecognizable. 

"Anemosi!" She rose from her chair to stand at Lord Radik's side. 

"Yes, my lord?" There were tears starting in her eyes, but her face was set and her hand had not left the hilt of her sword since the doors had opened. 

"You must warn the other houses. Go quickly. There is not much time. We must mount the defenses." Anemosi looked stricken, and threw an agonized glance at Sam, her eyes saying everything she had wanted to in the rose garden that night. Frodo felt Sam's hand go limp in his, and he followed his friend's gaze to its focus. They were staring at each other hard, with the air between them fairly crackling with unspoken feeling. 

She looked away, and when she spoke her voice was low and rough. 

"I will go, my father." 

He nodded sadly, and took her arm in his hand. Leaning in, he whispered to her. "My dearest, you are the only one I can trust with this. Forgive me." He kissed her on the forehead, then turned to the rest of the hall. 

"Kerra, Votal, you shall accompany her." He gestured at the two warriors, who bowed and went to stand behind Anemosi. Gandalf rose from his seat and joined the small band. 

"I shall also accompany your daughter, Lord Radik, on her errand." 

Lord Radik looked about to protest, as was Frodo, but a sharp glance at both of them from the wizard silenced them at once. 

"We shall leave immediately. With any luck, we shall not be long at our work." With that, the four stepped down from the dais and exited the door. 

The meal was over. Embrai's body had mercifully been removed, but the air seemed heavy with dread. Orcs were nothing to the fey, they could kill them like insects and with about as much exertion, but the Nazgul were a different story. There could be no rest for anyone until the threat was over. 

********************   
Sam and the rest of the hobbits were herded back to their rooms with strict orders to stay there. Sick with fear and frustration, Sam was pacing frantically, torn between worry about Frodo and Anemosi when the curtain parted and a shadowy figure breezed in. 

"Sam, it's me." It was Anemosi's voice, but he would not have recognized her under the dark armor she now wore. Her hair was bound back and covered with a dark scarf, and the shimmer seemed to be gone from her skin. 

"Sam, I'm sorry I can't meet you now...I barely have time to say goodbye." She smiled halfheartedly. "There's so much I want to say to you, but right now just isn't the time." 

He nodded. "I know...but there's work to be done, and neither of us is one to shirk when it's our time." He was trying to be brave, she realized. He could smile and stand tall all he liked, but she knew fear when she saw it. And she was frightened too. 

"I'll be back soon. We'll talk then." Her eyes were hopeful, and scared. She looked young and fragile, and he wanted to gather her in and hold her to him, shouting "No! She can't go! I won't let her!", but that would have been foolish, and embarrassing. She could take care of herself, and perversely, he felt more afraid about waiting in Siobhangé without Gandalf there than she did in the great forest with him. 

She clasped his hand for a moment, and he felt her slide something hard and warm into it. He stared at her hard, trying to work up the courage to say something meaningful, but the curtain slid back again and Kerra looked in. 

"Anemosi, we're leaving. Hurry!" The curtain fell back into place, and Anemosi looked away. 

"I've got to go," she whispered. "Oh Sam, I don't want to..." A tear slipped from her eye, and he brushed it away tenderly. 

"Be brave," he said softly, then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. She nodded and turned away, leaving before she lost all discipline and hid in his arms. 

After she had gone, leaving nothing to prove her presence but an aching heart and tear-filled eyes, Sam opened his hand to see what it was she had left him. 

Glittering faintly in the dark was her taena. He could hold back no longer, and burst into tears as he heard the sound of hoof beats riding away into the night. 

*************** 

A/N: Do you guys like it so far? This is going to be a loooong fanfic! There's so much more to come! And thank you guys who have reviewed me so far--you guys rock, I never thought anyone would think this story was as great as you guys have said it is!   
  



	12. The Attack

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my own characters, blah blah blah...   
  


Kerra peered out through the brush. She was sweat-stained, bloody, hungry, and afraid; in other words, not in great shape. She was glad that Gandalf had insisted upon coming along; his presence in the great halls of the other fey houses lent urgency and credibility to their warning because of his not completely undeserved reputation as a doomsayer. The devastating news of the arrival of the Nazgul had come as a nasty shock to the fey houses the little band had been able to reach, but even worse was the knowledge that the warning had not reached two of the fey strongholds in time, and the great fey cities of Bandabît and Ykorda had fallen to the orcs. 

"Our defenses grow thinner every day, Master Gandalf," Kerra whispered. She could see little beyond the dense undergrowth, but the stench of death hung heavy all about them. "Praise be to the Lady that we were able to reach most of the houses in time."   
  
"Yes, praise be, Kerra, but what of the ones we did not reach?" Anemosi's eyes were haunted. The days spent traveling had been hardest upon her, and she took every death as happening because of a mistake on her part. "We did not move fast enough. We should have been ready!" She looked frail enough to be broken by a slight wind, but the strange look in her eyes belied a strength just beginning to develop. 

*She is starting to awaken,* thought Gandalf. *The time is fast approaching.* His thoughts were broken as Votal burst back into the glade. The young warrior had at first been honored to have been selected for such a vital mission, but the glamour soon wore off as they spent most of their time on the run from orc patrols.   
  
"Lady Radika, we must move on! There are two patrols headed this way at speed!" He was sweating heavily under his mithril coat, afraid that even the precious metal would not hold back a true orc assault. Thus far, they had managed to avoid the orc patrols, but they had run into a few stragglers that had given them some trouble. As the days passed by, Anemosi had weakened fast, and at night, she had awakened sobbing, moaning that she could hear the voices of the dead fey in her mind. She could only sleep easy in Kerra's arms, the crimson-haired warrior trying to take on as much of the pain as possible, but in the end only able to suffer as Anemosi struggled under the double effects of the Ring and the Power. 

Anemosi stared at him dully, her head seemingly filled with sludge that writhed painfully within her skull. She breathed in slowly and tried to fight through the fog in her brain. Kerra pushed away the urge to weep, and rose to take Anemosi's arm. Gandalf watched her as she helped Anemosi to her feet, devotion in every movement. 

"She can no longer ride," Votal muttered to himself, but Kerra's sharp ears picked up the words. Her eyes slitted. 

"What are you suggesting, Master Votal?" She looked nothing short of murderous. 

"Nothing, Lady Ojona!" he spluttered. "I was only expressing concern for the Lady Radika." 

Kerra smiled grimly. "Be assured, Master Votal, that if it comes down to it, I will carry the Lady Radika upon my back. We have come this far, and we will not fail." 

Gandalf felt a rush of admiration for Kerra. She was a true hero, one of the quiet, unsung champions who were the legs the mighty walked upon. He only hoped Anemosi was grateful for the help. 

Kerra led Anemosi to her pony and eased her up to the saddle. Mounting her own steed, Kerra took up the reins of Anemosi's pony and turned back to Gandalf and Votal. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" 

They rode hard now, not stopping for longer than it took to water and rest the ponies. The closer they came to Siobhangé, the stronger Anemosi became, and Kerra especially wanted to get her home. Their mission was completed and they were only a short ride out of Siobhangé when Gandalf suggested they stop for a short break. They led the ponies to a small stream and took the opportunity to splash the cool water on their faces and heads, relaxing in the feel of the water on their overheated skin. Anemosi was the first to drink from the stream, gulping huge mouthfuls of water regardless of how sick it might make her, when she tasted a faint metallic tinge to the water. 

She pulled back with a growing feeling of dread. *Tastes like blood,* she thought. She staggered to her feet and bit back a scream as she saw a figure dangling upside down from a tree farther up the stream, trailing blood into the water. It was one of the border guards, and she could see movement just beyond the tree from which the corpse was hanging. 

"Sweet Lady!" she shrieked. Kerra and Votal were on their feet in a breath, weapons at the ready, and Gandalf heaved himself to his feet to train his staff upon the slowly advancing force. Anemosi drew her sword and desperately tried to ignore how her hand was shaking. She had enough time to blink, and then the horde was upon them. 

She had not known there were so many orcs in the world. Wave after vicious wave poured out of the woods and pounded down against the four. She fought bravely and skillfully, but the orcs were too many and too powerful for even such warriors as Kerra and Gandalf. 

Anemosi had just hacked the legs out from underneath an orc that dared to take a swipe at her exposed stomach when she heard a scream from behind her. Turning, she saw that the biggest orc she had ever seen had Kerra pinned to the ground by a foot on her now-loose hair. It was raising its sword to plunge it into Kerra's neck, but Anemosi leapt into the air, slamming into the orc's body and sending it sailing back into several of its fellows' bodies. They crashed into the stream, bellowing their rage in to the water. Anemosi heaved Kerra to her feet and tried to see how Gandalf and Votal were holding up. Not surprisingly, their other two companions were in just as desperate situations as Kerra had been. 

Anemosi was moving to Gandalf's aid when, before she could reach the old man, she felt a hot slicing pain lance across the back of her thighs. She fell to the ground in a kneeling position, knowing without looking that she had been crippled. Gandalf stopped fighting to stare at her, shivering where she had fallen. *Oh no, not yet...* he thought hopelessly as he saw her eyes closing. *She cannot give up now!* 

Kerra screamed as she saw Anemosi fall. Her sword cut more vicious arcs than ever before as she fought to get to Anemosi's side, but there were too many, and the battle was being lost....   



	13. The Dream

DISCLAIMER: You've heard it all before. Not mine, just my inspiration.   
  


The days had passed in a fugue of dread, fear, and anxiety for Sam. The four hobbits and the rest of the Fellowship had been allowed out of their rooms, but they stayed within the confines of the Lord Radik's gardens. Over the walls, they could hear the sounds of war preparations, of great and ancient machines being pulled out of the cobweb beds they had rested in for untold years. Something deep and furious had been awakened in the fey, and the Fellowship preferred to stay out of the way. 

Sam, for his part, was watching the safeguards being set up from his balcony, but was barely conscious of what was going on around him. His every thought was bent upon Anemosi as she went about her urgent mission. He could do nothing but worry about her, which was something he was good at, after many years' practice of worrying over Frodo. He had barely slept since she left, and in further proof of his anxiety was his refusal to eat for the past two days. He constantly felt sick with apprehension, and even Frodo's company could not calm him. 

Frodo had just left him. The Ringbearer was exhausted as well by trying to lift Sam's dread, but his friend's pain was too deep to be lifted. The night that Anemosi had left, Frodo had heard desperate sobs from the room next to his, and had run in to see Sam curled up on the floor and crying as if his heart would break. Frodo had stayed beside him all that dark and lonely night, trying to stop the tears, trying to pay back the devotion that Sam had given to him all those years, and during that night he learned the depth of feeling that his dearest friend had for the fey princess. 

It had amazed Frodo to hear of it, but in the end, he wasn't surprised. After all, pure hearts were attracted to each other, and if any two people were true and loyal, they were Sam and Anemosi. 

Now, however, Sam had begged Frodo to go and rest, and as his friend left, the terrible ache that filled his heart returned. He was heavy with dread, and the feeling only grew as the minutes slowly dripped by. After what seemed like hours of vacantly staring out in the gardens, Sam dropped into a restless slumber. 

His dreams came thick and fast, undistinguishable blurred imagery crowding into his brain. He tried to wake up, but something was holding him in sleep, trying to make him see through the fog. 

The images became clear, and it was like the curtain rising on a play within his head. He could see a small grove beside a stream, then slowly, figures faded in upon the scene. He recognized Kerra, and Gandalf, and Votal, all surrounded by and battling orcs...but where was Anemosi? 

There she was, kneeling, her eyes rolled back in her head as an orc grabbed her hair and yanked her head back viciously. He saw and was powerless to stop the advance of a serrated dagger towards her throat. Before he could cry out, the scene changed. 

Kerra was stabbed through the back, falling silently to the ground like a bag of broken toys. Gandalf was roaring something, but the dream was frightfully silent, and Sam could hear nothing. The old man was overrun by orcs, and disappeared under their masses... 

"No! No! Make it stop!" Sam awoke with a start, icy sweat pouring down his face. He panted, looking around desperately. He slowly got to his feet, shaking uncontrollably, and was suddenly conscious of a burning sensation on his chest. He dug around under his shirt and pulled forth Anemosi's taena. It was glowing a blinding silver, and was fearfully hot. 

"Bless me, she's in danger!" The dream was real, he knew it. But what was there to do? 

There was only one thing he could do. He grabbed his small sword from where it rested on the table and rushed into the hall. All the fatigue and worry of the past few days was gone, and only a relentless determination to save Anemosi and her companions remained. 

"Strider! Boromir! Help!" The Fellowship opened their curtains, peering out with sleepy expressions that turned to confusion when they saw Sam panting and pale in the hall with his sword in an iron grip. 

"Samwise, what are you doing? Trying to wake the whole house?" Strider came forward, a look of annoyance crossing his regal features. 

Sam shook his head vehemently. "There's something wrong, Strider! Gandalf--Kerra--Anemosi--they're all in trouble! We've got to help them!" 

Strider laughed. "They'll be fine, little hobbit. Stop your worrying and go back to your room." 

"But--" Sam went cold. "You've got to help them!" 

Boromir snickered. "Really, Sam, it's not enough that you wake us up, you have to wake us up for one of your stories." He turned away and walked back to his room, muttering. 

"Sam." That was Frodo's voice. He looked pale and concerned. "What's happening?" Pippin and Merry were behind him, yawning hugely and rubbng sleep out of their eyes. 

Sam felt tears coming on, and struggled to hide them. "I saw them...in--in a dream. They're being attacked by orcs! We've got to help them!" 

"What did you see?" Tasla had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. It was one of her rather disconcerting habits. "Master Samwise?" Her smooth face was concerned. 

"They're dying, Lady Tasla! The orcs are going to finish them unless we move right quick!" 

Tasla closed her eyes and murmured under her breath. Sam felt the taena shift under his shirt, and Tasla's eyes flew open, large and startled. 

"Sweet Lady, the hobbit is right!" She whirled around, tension in every muscle. "Drake! Masirat!" 

Two voices seemed to speak from the walls. "Yes, Tasla?" 

"We must go, at once! The hobbit saw Lady Radika's band being attacked by the orcs...they have gotten closer than we thought." Her eyes slitted. "Alert the others. Let us go, now." The walls seemed to vibrate with acquiescence. 

She turned to the four hobbits. "Are you ready?" 

Pippin froze. "We're not going, are we? It's not safe!" 

"It is no longer safe anywhere, Master Pippin." Tasla replied. "We leave, now." She tilted her head slightly and said, to no one in particular, "Swords!" 

Four hobbit swords dropped from thin air to land before the four hobbits. They were staring at them in astonishment when Tasla snapped, "Well, what are you waiting for? Pick them up, and we'll go!" 

Even as they were gripping their swords, Tasla yelled a strange phrase that made their hair curl tightly on their heads. A sound of rushing wind filled their ears, and without warning they seemed to be pressed flat against a huge, heavy wall. It was over in an instant, and they were dropped unceremoniously into the small grove that Sam had seen in his dream.   



	14. The Awakening

DISCLAIMER: If I only had a hobbit....:)   
  


Gandalf staggered to his feet as Masirat hauled two orcs off of him and ran his sword through both of them at the same time. Merry and Pippin had overcome their fright and were working together to take out orc after orc, and it was apparent that Drake and Masirat had also roused the other members of the Fellowship, because Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli were fighting side by side with a group of fey warriors. 

Kerra was stretched prone on the ground, pain radiating out from the stab wound low on her belly, when she saw Sam appear in front of her. 

*He knew she was in danger!* she thought in astonishment. The connection between the hobbit and Anemosi ran deeper than any of them had realized. 

Seeing her fellows come to her aid gave her new strength. She stood up unsteadily, and gave a ringing blow with the side of her sword to the head of an orc that threatened Frodo. It fell over, keening in pain, and the last thing it heard was Kerra's laughter as she drove the point of her blade through its skull. 

The battle had grown intense. Even Anemosi had recovered enough to fight, and the fey were creatures out of a nightmare when they were fighting like this. Merry caught a glimpse of Tasla destroying a orc of special viciousness, and realized that she was using not only steel but nails and teeth to kill it. 

Anemosi was weakening fast. The wounds on the back of her legs were fast draining blood from her, and her exhausted muscles could no longer hold out. She fell again to her knees, and this time there was no escaping as she saw an orc raise its sword in a great swooping arc. 

*So this is how my service to the Lady ends,* she thought helplessly. *Oh Sam, I'm so sorry...* She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and hear him yelling her name as the blade descended. 

"Anemosi! NO!" Frodo turned and saw Sam trying to get to her as she knelt before her coming doom. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn't moving. *Why won't she save herself?* he thought deperately. *At least for Sam, let her do something!* 

Sam wouldn't get there in time, he knew, but he was damned if he wasn't going to try. Screaming himself hoarse, he slashed again and again through orc armor and flesh, trying to get just a little closer to her. 

Something stirred inside her as she heard Sam's voice. *Lady,* she prayed silently in the eternity that passed before the blade hit her, *Give me the strength to defeat these creatures. Do not let your servants suffer. Do not let the Quest fail!* 

Her pain was gone. She was strong now, with the Power of the Lady free and pulsing in her veins. Her eyes flew open, and they were shining and clear. In the instant before the blade struck her, her hand went up and caught the sword in an iron grip. The orc snarled and tried to wrench its weapon free, but Anemosi twisted it and slung the beast to the ground. It lay there, gibbering in fear, as she opened her mouth and let loose a few drops of barbed liquid. They flew at the creature, stabbing it in the eyes, the mouth, the throat, and it died gurgling in its own blood. 

She rose, powerful beyond measure now. This Power had moved in her mother, and now it moved in her. She felt it rising like a flood deep within her body, and every orc her gaze fell upon knew fear of the Lady before they were struck down. 

Kerra let out a scream of victory as she saw Anemosi standing. "All hail the Lady Radika!" she bellowed, and raised her sword in salute. Every fey warrior paused and let loose a call of triumph as Anemosi raised her arms and shouted a word of such potency that every orc within ten feet of her fell dead to the ground. 

The tide of battle had turned. The orcs were dead where they stood. No matter how hard they fought, they could not win against the combined might of the Fellowship and the fey. In minutes, the grove was scattered with grisly orc corpses, and not one remained to provide a moving target for Legolas' bow. 

Anemosi shuddered deeply. The Power was fading, sinking back into her deepest self, but she knew that she could now call it whenever she had need. Her eyes were open to the abilities within herself, and she could never forget what she was. 

She collapsed heavily, exhaustion seeping into every fiber of her body. Sam was at her side instantly, cradling her frail body in his arms. She seemed even more delicate now that her powers had awakened, and she weighed no more than a child 

"Anemosi," he whispered, and smoothed a few wisps of hair back from her forehead and kissed it lightly. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. 

"Dear Sam, you came..." Her hand closed around his. "How did you know?" 

Wordlessly, he reached under his shirt with his free hand and pulled her taena out. It was cool to the touch now, and its glow had faded back to its usual silver. He smiled down at her, relieved beyond measure that she was alive, and in his arms at last. 

"Will you be alright?" he asked softly. She nodded in response. 

"Just a little tired, that's all. I might need some help walking, though." 

"I'll carry you, if it comes to it." Sam squeezed her hand tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. 

Frodo grinned to himself, and the rest of those assembled looked relieved and happy for the first time in many days. The immediate threat was over, and Sam was just helping Anemosi to her feet when a rider on a pony came riding towards them.   



	15. The Lovers

DISCLAIMER: Love the hobbits...loooove the hobbits. Wish I owned them.   
  


"What news is this?" Gandalf said to himself. He was a hardier sort than he looked, Kerra thought. He had taken a beating most fey warriors would have become squeamish at the thought of, and yet was still on his feet. Her respect for wizards had grown immensely. 

The rider was Iaka, panting and bleeding from a dozen wounds. She swung down off her mount and ran forward to kneel in front of Anemosi. 

"Lady Radika! I'm so glad as that I've found you! Blessed be the Lady, you're alive!" Iaka was weeping with joy. "Oh, but Lady Radika, it's right bad back in Siobhangé, oh Sweet Lady, it's bad..." She broke down into huge shuddering sobs that wracked her entire frame. Masirat gripped her arms tightly and shook her slightly. 

"Come on now, Iaka, out with it! What's going on?" 

"Oh Lady! The Nazgul came to Siobhangé while all of you were gone!" 

Anemosi staggered backwards, and the only reason she remained standing was Sam's strong arm about her waist. "Oh Sweet Lady..." she breathed. Kerra looked sick, and Tasla burst into tears. The rest of the fey were by turns stricken and furious. Anemosi recovered herself fastest, and managed to speak. 

"What has happened? How did they get in?" 

"We don't know, Lady! All I know is that they were lookin' for the Ring!" Frodo froze, his hand flying to where the Ring hung by a chain on his neck. Gandalf laid a heavy hand on Frodo's shoulder to steady him, but Frodo had gone freezing cold and took no notice of the comfort. Iaka continued, and her next words were devastating. 

"Lady Radika, forgive me for as bein' the one to have to tell you this, b-b-but, but they've taken your father." 

Anemosi's eyes widened and she fell to her knees. Kerra let out a choked scream and buried her head in her hands. 

Sam knelt beside her, trying to lend what comfort he could to his beloved, but she was beyond all comfort now. She raised shimmering eyes to Iaka's, and whispered, "What do you mean, they've taken him? Have they captured him?" 

"No, Lady! They've stabbed him! Run him right through with their blades, but he didn't die, he just started to--change...Lady Radika, we are undone!" Iaka doubled over, sobbing broken-heartedly. 

Anemosi covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Silence fell over the gathering. A eternity passed before Anemosi pulled away from Sam and rose to her feet. She looked small and young, standing there among her people and surrounded by dead orcs, but she was the Lady Radika, and years of strength and power lent her a dignity unseen before by any gathered there. 

"We shall return to Siobhangé," she said, unsteadily at first, but then Sam slipped his rough hand into hers and she gained strength. "We have much work to do, my people, and the day is yet young." 

All the fey gathered knelt in unison. "It shall be done, my Lady," whispered Kerra, her blue eyes sad and yet still hopeful. "It shall be done." 

The ride back to Siobhangé was silent and fearful. They were not troubled along the way, but a feeling of palpable dread hung over them all. The great Autumn   
Gate to the city hung smashed and broken beyond repair, and Anemosi dully directed it to be replaced quickly. 

The damage to the city was not unbearable, and the immediate task of rebuilding the defenses took away the immediate pain of the attack. Anemosi was separated from Sam almost immediately when they arrived back at her house, and he did not see her at the evening meal. He missed her desperately, and worried over her   
incessantly until Frodo told him to go and rest before he collapsed. So, he retreated to his room and worried about her there. 

It was about midnight when he he could bear it no longer. He left his room and ran trough the hall of the now-silent house, searching out her room and nearly weeping when he found it. This was where he needed to be, to offer what comfort he could in her time of suffering. 

She was sitting on a window ledge, heart-breakingly lovely and alone in the moonlight. She turned as he pulled back the curtain and entered, and the joy in her face as she saw him was indescribable. 

"Oh Sam!" She ran to him, bursting into tears as he gathered her in and cradled her frail form against him with all the tenderness that he possessed. 

"Hush, hush now, it's going to be alright...I'm here, just rest now..." He stroked her hair gently, and when she pulled away from him, he wiped away the last traces of her tears with rough fingers. 

"I'm afraid, Sam," she whispered. "I'm so afraid!" 

"Don't be. I'm here, and I won't let you down." He smiled at her sweetly, and tentatively lowered his head to kiss her. 

A warm shock ran through her body. The trauma of the past few days, the pain of knowing that her beloved father had been taken from her, the stress of taking over the leadership of her people...it had all drained her heart and left it empty for filling...but with what? 

It left her heart empty for filling with Sam. 

She kissed him back with more passion, never wanting to leave his side again. Nothing, not even Sauron himself, could drag her away from her little gardener. They clung to each other desperately, two beacons of light and love and goodness in a world suddenly gone very dark. He lifted her gently in his strong arms, and carried her over to the bed and laid her upon it. He climbed up beside her and drew her against him once more, whispering in her ear: 

"Sleep now, Anemosi. I'm not going nowhere, so you've got nothing to fear." 

Her hand closed tightly around his and she snuggled against his chest, trying to get as close to him as she could. She was almost asleep already, but she had   
something important to say before she could rest. 

"Sam, I meant to tell you, in the gardens...that I love you, my dearest Sam." Her voice faded away and her breathing became even and smooth. 

Sam closed his eyes and kissed her lightly. This was true joy, that, even now, love could blossom in the ruins evil left behind in its wake. "I love you, Anemosi," he whispered as he too slipped into slumber.   



	16. The Secret

DISCLAIMER: Yadda yadda yadda. 

************** 

One of Anemosi's first decisions after her arrival back home was to call in every faery from the surrounding area and city into Siobhangé. This had been done on Gandalf's advice, which he supported by claiming that one city would be easier to defend than many, and Anemosi agreed. Siobhangé was quite large enough for all the fey to live in at once, even more so now that two more fey cities had fallen to the orcs. 

"Four cities...Bandabît, Lreesa, Ykorda, and Gendahesh. All gone," Kerra mused as she poured over a map stretched out on a table before her.She had finally insisted upon Anemosi going to bed and resting, and was well aware that Sam had joined the princess during the night. She was glad that Anemosi could glean some small comfort in these dark days, but she still knew that while the Ring remained in Siobhangé, Anemosi's well-being was at stake. 

She turned her sapphire gaze upon Gandalf, who reclined in a heavy oaken chair and was pensively smoking his pipe. "Our people are weakening, Gandalf. Our time for counter-attacks is slipping away, and yet you still counsel patience?" 

Gandalf drew the pipe away from his mouth. "The storm is still brewing, Lady Kerra. I advise you not to hurry its arrival." 

Kerra swore and shoved the maps off on to the floor. "It is brewing, Master Gandalf? It is already here!" She swung around the table in a fit of rage so potent that he rocked back in his chair. 

"The Ring weakens Anemosi, day by day. Lord Radik has been claimed by the Nazgul. Four of our cities have fallen to the orcs, and the blood of countless fey runs through my hands!" She raised her fists above her head in a paroxysm of pain. "And yet you counsel we do nothing! We have protected your Ringbearer, and your Fellowship, though we could have stayed quiet and secret, and remained safe! Who are you, Mithrandir, to counsel patience when all I can hear is the screaming of the innocents as they are put to the blades of the orcs? We had no business to fight! This is your war, not ours! We have no place in this but the niche you carved for us. Damn you for eternity!" 

She was barely an inch from his face, spitting as she shrieked wildly at him. The old man was terrified of the crimson-tressed warrior; she had become huge and dark with anger and despair. Before, one look at her was enough to break a man's heart. Now, one look into her glittering eyes was enough to break a man's will. 

She straightened, and shrank back into herself once more. She turned from Gandalf and gripped the edge of the table weakly, shivering visibly. 

"Forgive, Master Gandalf. My grief is too powerful." She threw her head back, pain echoing in every tendon of her body. "We have lost too much, and we stand to lose everything unless we act." 

Gandalf was amazed. Kerra, the inscrutable, silent warrior, was laying bare something of herself to him that she had never done before. She was vulnerable, a state she was obviously not used to. 

"We cannot lose the Lady Radika," she continued softly. "She is the very life of the fey; if she perishes, we die also." A tear rolled down the smooth marble of Kerra's cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. "And I cannot bear to see her suffer." 

Gandalf blinked. There was a curious emphasis on that last phrase, a note barely detectable. What did it mean? 

"The hobbit means a great deal to her," Kerra said needlessly. "They have become...close, and as it is my duty to protect Lady Radika's best interests, he falls under my protection too." 

"Lady Kerra, what are you getting at?" Gandalf had risen, keeping in mind the low ceiling. "What are you saying?" 

"You must take her with you, when you leave," Kerra replied tonelessly. "As long as she stays alive, the fey will survive." 

"That's preposterous!" Gandalf was astonished. "Who are you, Lady Kerra, to think that we will survive?" 

"I don't know! I can only try to keep her safe for as long as I have breath in my body. The Nazgul know the Ring is in Siobhangé. They will return, though we do not know the hour. You must leave before they come again. You, Master Gandalf, can keep her safe, and Sam," she choked, her voice catching in her throat. "Sam will keep her safe as well." 

So that was it. The hobbit was the cause of Kerra's pain. Why hadn't he seen it before? It was obvious, now that it was laid bare, not so much by Kerra's words but by the undercurrent of emotion in her words. 

Kerra was in love with the Lady Radika. Completely, hopelessly, silently in love. He stared at her in surprise, and she nodded slowly, knowing his thoughts without asking. 

"What love cannot give openly, it will give in sacrifice." Her voice was flat and despairing. "I will die for her. My life was dedicated to her. If her place is with Master Samwise, then so be it." Kerra seemed to draw inward and become smaller, pained and lonely. "My life and heart for her happiness. She is everything to the fey." Kerra moved to the window, where her tears fell down onto the roses in the garden beneath them. "And she is everything to me."   



	17. The Truth

DISCLAIMER: You guys are smart...you know they're not mine! 

**************** 

He had never slept so well in his life. The sensation of a warm, soft body pressed up against his was soothing, and to wake up and find that the most beautiful woman in Middle-Earth was curled up against him was amazing, to say the least.   
  
For all her grace and poise when awake, Anemosi was a surprisingly difficult person to sleep with. Her nocturnal acrobatics had nearly pushed him off the bed several times, and she kept stealing all the sheets. He had awakened over and over to find her bundled up beside him and to find himself shivering in the cool night air. 

Right now, she was sprawled out across the bed like spilled water. Her hair had come undone from its braids and lay in twisting glory over the pillows. One leg was slung his belly, effectively holding him in place. Until that morning, he hadn't know that someone's back could bend that way. 

He lifted a silver lock of hair from the pillow and smoothed it through his hands. Everything about her was a wonder. Her hair looked hard and inflexible as steel when she was still, but when she moved, it was like the clouds flowing over the moon. Even her skin looked as if it would be cool to the touch, like the granite of an exquisite statue, but she was warm and vibrant to the touch. 

*Yes indeed, bless me, but she's warm!* he thought dreamily and brushed his lips over hers. She awoke slowly, groaning as her body contorted into an amazing dancer's stretch, showing off joints that Sam had never knew existed, and finally opened her glorious eyes to a new day. They were like twin sunrises as they caught the light. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he murmured, and kissed her again. 

"Mmmm." She still looked sleepy, and yawned in response. She grinned at him happily, and he was just leaning down to kiss her once more when his stomach growled loudly. He blushed as she laughed merrily. 

"Sorry 'bout that, Anemosi, but seeing as I've already missed two meals already, I'm right famished!" 

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Two meals? But it's barely time for lunch!" 

He shook his head in amazement as they rose from the bed. She obviously didn't know about second breakfast, or elevenses. This would take some explaining.... 

**************** 

The door to the great hall slammed open, and Frodo glanced up from his second helping of sausages to see who was entering, a shot of fear jolting through his system as he remembered Embrai's last entrance into the hall. 

It was Anemosi, with her hair like a living cape over her shoulders and back. It seemed to move of its own accord as she strode gracefully into the hall, and all heads turned to look at her as if they were tied to her by string. As usual, she was blissfully unaware of the effect that her unearthly appearance had on others. 

She looked refreshed and happy, Frodo noticed, as she came into the dining hall with Sam holding on to her hand like he would never let go. Sam, seeing Frodo, waved and pointed him out to Anemosi. Forsaking her usual place at the head of the high table, she followed Sam with silent footsteps to sit with Frodo, Pippin, and Merry, who greeted her with full mouths. Sam seated himself between next to Frodo, and Anemosi gracefully lowered herself into a chair on his opposite side. 

In his simple, devoted way, Sam immediately began to bustle about, trying to serve both Anemosi and Frodo as best he could at the same time, but he became so flustered that he ended up spilling a cup of fruit juice on Pippin's head. Frodo and Anemosi forced him to sit down, and calmly Frodo went about serving Sam   
himself. 

Other than Pippin ranting about how he now smelled like berries, the meal began cheerfully, with no mention of the events of the previous days. It seemed as if everyone at the table was consciously avoiding the subject to spare themselves the pain. Lord Radik's presence was sorely missed at the table, and a feeling of dread seemed to drift above his chair, which remained empty at the head of the table. 

Frodo could see the devastation that the past few days had visited upon Anemosi. She was thinner than ever and he could see bruises through the filmy material of her shift, a darker grey that showed up starkly against the silver-tinted pallor of her skin. How she had managed to survive under the stress without breaking down was a mystery to Frodo, but one whose origins that he mostly attributed to Sam. This morning, however, another force seemed to be acting upon her, and Frodo felt inexplicably to blame. Anemosi's good mood seemed more strained and forced the longer the meal went on. Her laughter grew shrill and for the first time Sam noticed dark circles under her eyes. Her skin had a strangely translucent quality to it, and she was trembling almost imperceptibly. Sam felt a familiar sensation of despair building up within him; this was the way Frodo had looked in Ré-Nancet before they had come to Siobhangé. The Ring, he realized with a hideous feeling of failure exploding in his heart, was affecting Anemosi too. 

Frodo had noticed the way that Anemosi was behaving, how she started backwards every time he accidentally brushed against the bare skin of her arm, how her eyes were constantly growing vague and blurry before a direct address brought her back to the conversation. She barely picked at her food, merely swirling it around on her plate. The atmosphere grew more tense and nervous as it continued. Even Pippin and Merry noticed, forsaking their meals to glance nervously at each other as her skittish manner became more and more pronounced. Finally, Anemosi threw her chair back and rose, shaking visibly. 

"Forgive me, sirs, but I must go...I have things to do..." With an audible moan, she almost ran from the table. Sam started to get up to follow her, but she was gone before he could catch her. 

She had barely reached the corridor before the tears started. *The Ring!* she thought bitterly as she ran through the halls, seeking some sort of comfort. *It burns! Oh Sweet Lady, it burns me!* 

This was a pain that could not be assuaged. It was within her, it was a part of her. It was too deep to heal, too insidious to be explained. The Ring had destroyed her mother, its minions had killed her brother, and now it was seeking to destroy her. What was this twist of fate that had brought her undoing to stand laughing before her? The Fellowship could not, would not know of her pain. She ran, never stopping, sobbing with an ache that was swallowing her whole. 

She felt as of she were tied to two huge trees that were slowly being pulled in opposite directions. Sooner or later, powerful as she now was, she would be torn asunder. She had watched her mother die, screaming in agony as the two forces of the Ring and the Power drove her to a torment more terrible than any that could be invented in Barad-Dur. And now, it seemed, her fate was to be the same. Oh Lady! She would do anything just to lie in Sam's arms again, sweetly resting in peace, but no, even that refuge was denied to her now. After only one night with him, after only a few short hours of being able to be near him, she was driven away by the Ring. If only they knew! If only there was something they could do! 

They could leave. 

No! Not yet. Gandalf was still needed to teach her how to control this Power, to give her some strength to carry with her when they finally did depart. Oh, saying farewell to Sam...but that did not bear thinking about. 

She fell to her knees, having driven her body to its own huge limits. Anemosi lay panting on a cool stone floor, her mind whirling crazily. When she came back to her senses, she found herself lying upon the floor of the chapel. 

She pushed herself into a sitting position so she could gaze upon the statue of the Lady before her. It was the work of the first fey artist, a blind woman who had still managed to carve the most exquisite statue to be found under the sun. The Lady stood with her arms outstretched, her eyes closed and her face gentle with delicate sorrow. It was said that the face of the Lady changed to match that of each of the Lady Radikas, ever since its creation, and ever since Anemosi could remember, she had been able to see a trace of her mother's elegant beauty on the statue. She crept forward, trembling with fear at what she might she now. 

She saw herself in the face of the Lady, but more than that, she saw every face of every woman who had ever carried the Power before her. Their names flowed past her like wine, cool and sweet: Trentis...Raîte...Ninyara...Silnaté...over and over, never stopping; the Power of the Lady had flowed in all of them. 

It flowed in her now. Countless ages of strength and power were echoing in the finite measures of her skull, and her heart was comforted. The Lady Radikas had always suffered, yes, but where one had lain down her burden, another had always taken it up again. It was hers to bear now. 

Another name fell into her mind as she stood before the statue. It was a simple name, but true, much like the person behind it. And like all names, it could not define the person it labeled, but it would sing in her heart forever. 

*Sam!* she thought with sudden clarity. *Oh, dearest Sam, I pray that you shall not see me when the time for my trial comes.* She was unconscious of the tears that fell down her face, and she barely heard the door to the chapel open as Kerra came in. 

"Lady," came Kerra's voice, soft and pure in the silence of the chapel. "Lady Radika, forgive me for disturbing you, but there is need of your presence." Her voice trembled vaguely as she spoke. 

"What is it?" Anemosi whispered, not trusting herself to speak loudly. 

"The Nazgul...are here, my lady." 

She whirled around. "What?" 

Kerra bowed her head. "I have just come from the borders, my Lady. The Nazgul have entered the city with a company of orcs. They have...they   
have...slaughtered the border patrols. They are killing any in their path...they have entered the palace...and they--they are demanding your presence." 

"How did they get into Siobhangé?" Anemosi gasped. "There was no warning!" 

Kerra looked ready to weep. "My Lady," she whispered brokenly. "Your father let them in. He is the one demanding your presence." Her eyes met Anemosi's, two gazes filled with pain and endless suffering. "Lady, the Quest is undone." 

"Not yet, Kerra," hissed Anemosi. "As long as there is one fey left alive, the Fellowship will not fail." With one last look at the statue to fortify herself, Anemosi left the chapel with Kerra following close behind.   



	18. The Battle

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never will be. *sob*... 

************* 

Sam glared at the Nazgul, brown eyes slitted and hobbit sword drawn. He couldn't figure out why they were just standing there, silent, or why they hadn't tried to get to Mister Frodo and the Ring. There were orcs too, not too many, but the fact that they didn't attack was more frightening than their presence. No matter what the explanation was, he was prepared. He had placed himself in front of Frodo, ready to protect him with his life if the need arose.   
  
The rest of the Fellowship was grouped around him, all their weapons drawn. Gimli was growling what sounded like a dwarf prayer under his breath, and sweat had broken out on Legolas' marble brow. The rest of the entrance hall was filled with seemingly every fey warrior that lived in Siobhangé, and all of them were tense and solemn. Hundreds of knives had been drawn, arrows were put to bows, and axes gleamed in the noon day sun coming through the windows, but the   
Ringwraiths were merely silent. It was more frightening than their screams. 

Sam was suddenly conscious of a soft murmur behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the crowd part right beside him. Kerra came into view, followed by Anemosi, who was as far away from the shivering, frightened woman he had seen at lunch as she could be. She walked with her head held high and her eyes blazing, every inch the Lady Radika. The crowd immediately closed ranks behind her, creating a wall of bodies to put between Anemosi and the wraiths if it should come to a battle. Sam was on her right side, and Kerra stood at her left, radiating pure malevolence towards the Nazgul. 

Anemosi gazed at the Nazgul for a moment, then let her clear voice ring out through the hall. 

"Slaves of the Dark Lord, you have no business here. Go on your way. You have done us enough damage already. Do not think us unprepared to fight." Beside her, Kerra let out a growl that made the skin on Sam's neck crawl. 

The foremost wraith spoke. "We have come for you, Lady Radika, and the Ring. The Dark Lord is most desirous of your presence." 

She raised an eyebrow. "He desires my company? Then why does he not claim me himself? Is he still afraid of the Power of the Lady?" 

The Ringwraith hissed at her. Sam jumped and Kerra tensed in readiness for a leap, but Anemosi remained calm. 

"Foolish faery! You are no match for the Dark Lord. Do not jest!" 

Her eyes flashed, and Sam felt her gathering something unknown and subtle from the air around them. "Never accuse me of jesting, you slave of the One Ring.   
The Lady Radika never jests." Her hands had begun to show her agitation, Sam noticed, as he saw them weaving in and out of each other in a subtle pattern of delicate fingers. 

The Ringwraith seemed to laugh, and everyone in the room was reminded of a childhood fear that had paralyzed them in their youth. 

"You are nothing! Give yourself over." 

Anemosi spat in its face. With a roar, the closest orc sprang at her, and the purpose of the movement of her hands was revealed. Her hands flashed out, and a net of angry light flew towards the orc, binding it within its confines as it constricted upon its helpless victim. In seconds the orc had been completely drained of fluid, and lay shuddering on the ground as it died. 

Anemosi glared at the Ringwraith. Sweat had broken out on her brow, and Kerra realized that part of the reason why the Nazgul had not attacked was because Anemosi was blocking them from moving. Her powers, however great, would not hold for much longer. Killing the orc had taken a great deal out of her, and the breaking point was drawing near. 

"Leave now," Anemosi snarled through gritted teeth. An instant later, a voice that had not been heard before hissed something under its breath, and her head rocked back as if she had been slapped. Her eyes were large and fearful as she recovered; the corner of one eye was slowly leaking silver-tinted blood. 

Tehr, Lord Radik, stepped over the blackened, twitching corpse of the orc and came to stand before his daughter. 

"Lady Radika," he said, his voice lacking all its previous warmth and charm. He smiled at her with teeth sharpened into points and reddened with blood. Anemosi shuddered, and her hand unconsciously searched out Sam's. She clung to it with a death grip, trying to draw what strength she could from her devoted gardener to steady herself in the face of such horror. 

She met her father's eyes, and every creature in the hall fell silent as they became conscious of a battle going on between the two. Lord Radik was so severely changed from the witty, urbane host that had greeted them just days before that he was unrecognizable. His eyes were vacant, the pupils dilated to the point of obscuring the iris, and every vein was visible through his skin. The hideous smile lurked around his mouth as he surveyed his daughter, who stood shivering before him, her chest rising and falling as she tried to breathe steadily. 

He was inside her head! He was tearing apart her thoughts...oh Sweet Lady, how could she escape this? He knew all...he knew about Sam! Terror gripped her as she felt her father pulling out of her mind with satisfaction. He had found a way to attack her. She was powerless to stop him; his very gaze had frozen her where she stood. 

Lord Radik's gaze flickered from Anemosi to Sam, who still gripped her hand tightly in the vague help of supporting her. Tehr laughed low under his breath. 

"Stupid little hobbit! Do you really think that you can protect her?" Tehr's face was mocking and hard, the laugh still falling lightly from his lips. 

Gandalf realized instantly that the Lord Radik was taunting Sam, trying to provoke him into a fight he could not hope to win. He tried to reach the hobbit before he was killed, but a single glance from the wraith-controlled fey king was enough to pin him to the ground. 

Tehr snickered. Kerra, tested beyond her endurance at seeing Anemosi suffering under her father's abuse, lashed out with her twin swords, but one of the wraiths knocked her to the floor in a spatter of blood. The claws of its gauntlets had gouged her cheek deeply, and the blood drained down her face and pooled in the hollows of her collarbone. She groaned once, and lay still. Anemosi cried out and tried to go to Kerra, but her father punched her in the solar plexus, making her retch and double over in agony. 

Sam snapped. With a roar to rival the Horn of Gondor, he stabbed at Lord Radik, knowing even as he swung out that he had no chance of even touching the possessed fey. 

"Fool of a halfling!" Lord Radik smashed his hand into Sam's chest, sending the gardener flying backwards. Sam struck a wall, his head cracking against the marble with a resounding crack, and he fell to the ground in a fog of pain. 

"Sam!" Anemosi screamed. She was powerless to move, the combined power of the Ring and her father weakening her beyond endurance. She tried to pull away, tried to reach him, but her father locked his hands around her neck and squeezed. 

"You will die just as your lover will, my dear," he hissed into her face, flecks of red spit hitting her in the face. "You will die knowing that the Dark Lord cannot be defeated. The Quest of the Ring is over." 

Tehr jerked his head in Frodo's direction, who stood helplessly clutching both his sword and the Ring. "Take it, and kill the halfling and his friends. This one," he smiled mercilessly at his daughter, "is mine." He took one hand away from her throat to gesture to the gathered fey warriors. "These...things are yours to with what you will." He smiled at the orcs, who had left off their lethargy and were now jabbering loudly in anticipation of death. 

*We are doomed,* thought Gandalf dully. *Iaka was right...we are undone.* 

Anemosi's gaze was going black, but she could see the Nazgul extending a metal hand out to Frodo. Time seemed to congeal, to freeze, and she felt the Power stir in her as it had before. In an instant, the influence of the Ring and her father's polluted magic was thrown away, and she was pure in the presence of the Lady. She was free from her father's control, and it was time to act. She looked her father straight in the eyes and smiled a smile just as horrific as his own. 

"Dearest father, you have forgotten one small thing. The Ring is poison to the Lady, but she has no fear of its slaves. And neither do I!" She smashed her fist straight up into her father's face, loosening his hold in time for her to whirl around and try to fight her way to Frodo as the Nazgul drew close to the stricken hobbit. 

The battle had begun in earnest. The fey, freed from the malevolent power of the Nazgul and their corrupted lord, could now fight back with deadly force. Two races of astonishing viciousness, the fey and the orcs, clashed together in a battle of sickening violence. Blood was spilled in copious amounts, splashing out over the once-pristine floor of the hall. Never before had such evil come to Siobhangé, and the fey would defend their home until the last warrior fell. 

A recovered Kerra was a terror, a wild and furious whirlwind of blades and sharp teeth. Legolas caught a glimpse of her leaping upon an orc that threatened Anemosi and tearing its belly open with her bare hands. Hardened as he was by war, the sight of Kerra with entrails and black blood covering her hands was sickening. Even more terrifying was the expression on her face; she was enjoying what she was doing. 

In her fight to get to Frodo, Anemosi was destroying the orcs in whatever way she could. When one leapt in front of her, brandishing twin serrated blades, she merely slammed her hand to its head and blew its brain out its ears with a hissed word. She had no time to spare for the protocol of battle; the Ringbearer was in need. 

She reached him just as Merry and Pippin were tossed aside as they tried to protect Frodo. Even filled as she was by the Power of the Lady, she still felt the potency of the Ring as she came with reach of its siren call. It hit her like a blow. She shuddered, and in that moment, as her eyes closed, Sam's mind cleared. In that timeless instant, from where he lay, he could see Lord Radik coming around Frodo, raising a black sword high above his head in readiness to kill the Ringbearer. 

"Frodo!" Sam bellowed. Anemosi jerked back into awareness, and she saw the descending of the blade. There was only one course of action for her to take. She slammed into Frodo and took the blade herself. 

"No!" Sam screamed, as he saw Anemosi falling, pierced through the heart. Frodo watched, paralyzed, as she gasped, clutching the hilt of the blade that had stabbed her straight through. Every fey in that room felt the pain as if it had been themselves that had been stabbed. Time had stopped for everyone, good or evil, and in the silence Sam let out a choked scream that was the cry of a creature that had lost its heart. "Anemosi, NO!" 

Her eyes had closed, and she could feel her entire being coalescing around the pain in her chest. *Farewell, my beloved gardener,* she thought as her body began the countdown into oblivion. *I must leave you now.* 

*No.* A new voice was echoing in her head, pure, clear, and not to be disobeyed. *You will not fail me now, my Lady Radika. Your service to me is just beginning. Rid my people of this evil.* It was the voice of the Lady herself. 

Anemosi's eyes flashed open. Her pain was erased, and her gaze was clear and full of purpose. Sam watched in amazement as her body seemed to leap into flame. 

"Lord Radik, do you really think you can destroy me, when you are but a slave to the Ring, and I am forever?" Her voice was layered, textured like never before; the voice of every Lady Radika before her and every Lady Radika yet to come was echoing through her. The Lady Radika was now and forever. It was enough to make a man's heart burst. 

She clutched the hilt of the sword, and slowly pulled it out of her chest. She stood, her body seeming to burn from the inside with an unearthly flame, and she exhaled in a gust of wind. The air rippled, much as it had that long-ago day that she had healed Sam and Merry, and when the room returned to normal, she was healed and radiant. For one tiny instant and one emotionless eternity, she in every time and place at once, all powerful, all-knowing, and totally vulnerable. As she turned to face the Nazgul, they could see the reflections of each Lady Radika pulsing through Anemosi's mortal flesh. The body may have been weak, but the spirit was always the same. 

The servants of the Dark Lord watched in terror as she turned her gaze upon them. She was beyond terrible now, no longer the frail and beautiful princess that had tried to defy Sauron. She was more than the Lady Radika, the avatar of the Lady of the Fey; she was the Lady herself for that brief instant. She raised her arms above her head, singing a low, hovering song that nevertheless was more deadly than a thousand daggers. She was both clothed and naked, both moving and still...she was everywhere and forever...and in his fortress of Barad-Dur, for a heartbeat, the Dark Lord himself felt a flash of fear from an enemy long thought forgotten. 

Strengthened beyond measure for one last defense, the fey warriors gathered themselves together and prepared to attack. Before the battle could resume, the door to the entrance hall flew open, and the fey warriors from the other cities, just arrived, poured in, hundreds upon hundreds, and the orcs had no hope of victory. They ran, some escaping as others were cut down by the new arrivals. Lord Radik readied himself for one last attack upon Frodo, but one look at his daughter, blazing with an ancient silver fire, was enough to change his mind. Glaring at her with as much hate as he had once had love for her, Lord Radik spat at his daughter's feet, where it pocked the floor like acid. 

"Useless whore! I will return for you!" He raised his arms into the air and disappeared in a wind that smelled of decay and putresence. The Nazgul vanished in the same way, leaving nothing but broken fey and orc bodies behind them. 

Sam heaved himself to his feet and ran to Anemosi's side, embracing her tightly as she shuddered and gathered her power within herself once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kerra turn away with an agonized look on her face, but his immediate thoughts were only for Anemosi and Frodo. She felt as impermanent as the dust on rose petals, and just as fleeting. he clutched her tightly, feeling her grow more solid as she condensed, and became once more his beloved Anemosi. A low, sad thrum briefly caught his attention, and Sam slowly surveyed the great hall of the House of Radiké. 

The fey warriors were gathering up the bodies of their fallen comrades, whispering words of an ancient prayer to ease them on their journey to the Lady. The bodies of the orcs were disposed of much less kindly, carried out to be burned far away out of sight of the palace. 

The Fellowship had gone through the nightmare ordeal with only a few superficial injuries, which were swiftly taken care of by Drake and his healers. The fey healers were too few to be able to care for all that were injured, but they struggled to care for all that were in need of their services. 

Out of the Fellowship, Sam was the worst hurt, with a stiff neck and badly bruised back incurred in his defense of Anemosi. They clung together, knowing that the storm had just broken over their heads, and that the worst was yet to come.   
  
Still clinging to Sam's hand, Anemosi turned to the fey warriors gathered in the hall. "My beloved people!" she cried out, her voice ringing up to the rafters. "The Power of the Lady is strong with us! We shall be prepared for the final battle. We will survive. We will not yield!"   
  
The cry of joy that came from the fey was deafening. Anemosi had united all the great fey cities in those few words, and for the rest of time, songs were sung of her strength and faith in both the Lady and her people. But those songs were not yet written, and she had much ahead of her before the final battle could be won.   
  
She turned to Kerra, and grasped her most beloved friend's hand in hers. "Dearest Kerra, we have work to do. You have proven yourself more worthy than I can ever hope to deserve. I will defend you with my life, if need be." Kerra nodded, her heart too full for words.   
  
Anemosi turned again to Sam, whose eyes were full of love and pride and devotion...much the same as hers were. They were tied to the fate of the Ring, the two lovers, and nothing could move them from their part in the quest...or from each other. Though the true battle had not yet begun, they would face it together, for better or worse. Love, after all, was the one thing that tied the forces of good together against the darkness.   



	19. The Bond

DISCLAIMER: I love the story. But it's not mine. 

***************** 

The days passed in a blaze of preparations, hurried and desperate, with Siobhangé sealed off from the outside world by a cycle of spells that were constantly replenished by teams of fey song-weavers. The beautiful city was completely enclosed, a haven into which reports came of the movement of orcs through the forest of Ré-Nancet, hinting at the still more deadly battles to come.   
  
Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, and Aragorn were in their element, with their counsel grudgingly welcomed by the fey warriors. Aragorn especially was fascinated by the fey style of fighting, with its feral, whirling movements that were most effective when allowed to reach the fever pitch of an unstoppable predator tearing at its prey. Kerra's lithe form was best suited to this style, and she possessed the ability to lose all control of herself within the heat of battle, destroying anything in her path. She had within her certain magic powers of bowel-wrenching ferocity; she was a huntress of ancient times, one of the oldest and most feared of the fey. Those sapphire-ice eyes could burn like the fires of Mount Doom, and a single word from her could unleash the legendary fury of the fey.   
  
And she was held accountable to only one: the Lady Radika herself. 

Anemosi had matured swiftly as the days flew by, struggling to take hold of the spiral of events before they could escape her. She not had to deal with burden of grief over the loss of her beloved father, but she know that she held the very fate of her people in her hands, and the weight showed in the barely noticeable shortness of breath, of the unfamiliar tenseness of the back and shoulders, in the dark grey shadows traced under her eyes, in the ever-more pronounced hollows of her cheekbones. And above all, she wrestled with the power of the Ring. Its siren call had begun to beckon to her seductively, whispering to her of a solution to all her pains. She could take back her father, avenge her mother and brother, save her people, and, most agonizing of all, keep Sam by her side, if she only took the Ring from Frodo. 

She would be doing him a great service, after all, she thought to herself as she rested briefly in her rooms. He was a mere halfling, not at all near the level of the Lady Radika. If any was prepared to receive the Ring, was it not she, the avatar of the Lady herself? Why had it not passed to her? How could a hobbit succeed where a king of Numenor had fallen short? 

She shivered and drew her shawl more tightly around herself. Such thoughts were useless, but more frightening as they came more and more often, and with more force. She could never get warm anymore, she thought disjointedly. The chill had seemed to settle within her very marrow, and would not be dislodged. A sudden breeze blew through her thin gown, making her entire body break out in gooseflesh. What portents did this soft wind bring with it? She closed her eyes, sending out her subtle mind into the forest, searching, sensing, learning... 

The gentle touch of a pair of hands on her shoulders brought her back with a start to her rooms. With a shudder, she was pulled back inside her body, all too aware of its boundaries and weaknesses. 

Sam stood behind her, his eyes lighting upon her with such love that she felt herself shivering anew. She could hardly bear the intensity in his gaze, and loved him all the more for letting his feelings show for her so clearly. Her heart ached as she saw how he still moved stiffly, and she could see bruises peering out from under the collar of his shirt. 

"Hullo, Anemosi...I just wanted to check up on you, see if you needed anything..." his voice trailed off as she graced him with a blinding smile. He would have abandoned the Shire in an instant if he could be sure she would never have cause not to smile like that. 

"I have everything I need here, Sam." She raised her hand to his cheek, all but his presence forgotten. He covered her hand tenderly, his eyes sorrowful as he met her ravaged gaze. 

"You're hurting," he said quietly. She nodded miserably, knowing it useless to hide anything from this gentle creature who knew her so well. He gathered her in, as she hoped he would, whispering soft words of comfort that fell to silence as he turned to kisses to soothe her. His lips were warm, and soon trailed away from hers to smooth over the tender flesh of her throat. She shivered, but not with fear. 

"Sam..." He pulled back, a wondering look in his eyes, but she quelled his anxiety by sliding the shoulders of her gown down her arms. The sun was setting, and now was the time to gather what comfort they could from each other. 

His gaze grew more heated as she slowly undressed, but his face contracted with pain as he saw a puckered scar, mottled and thick, marring the perfect skin between her breasts. She would carry this memento, acquired by saving Frodo, for all of time. Trying to hold back his tears, he bent his head and kissed the wound softly. She sighed, brushing her hands through his soft hair, and that was the end of anything she could remember, because he lifted her to the bed, and the moon had risen before she was conscious of the outside world again. 

After that night, he rarely left her side. By day, she may have been separated from him as she attended secret councils with Gandalf and Aragorn, but she was never alone at night. Never. 


	20. The Ring

DISCLAIMER: Love 'em, want 'em. Don't got 'em. 

*********** 

The Fellowship were fascinated darkly by the fey's resignation to their final battle against the orcs. There was no way the Nine could leave Siobhangé now; the city was surrounded by a multitude of deadly troops, and any attempt at escape on their part would be inconceivable folly. Anemosi spent many hours closeted with Gandalf within a closely guarded planning chamber, with muttered incantations and words shouted in freezing languages making the walls whisper and strange images appear at the edge of one's peripheral vision. Some final defense was being planned, it was certain, of a magnitude unknown, but it drained both its workers desperately. They would stagger out of the room after their work was finished, weak and shaking, and the door was locked so that none but the wizard and the Lady Radika was able to peer inside. 

When Anemosi was thus occupied, Sam worried. Frodo's company was the only force that could distract him from his anxiety over Anemosi, and yet again, adversity was drawing the pair closer together. As she watched them through the precarious days of planning, Kerra became intimately aware of the defining characteristics of the hobbits: a single-minded devotion to each other, and the Quest. At first glance, it seemed that the depth of friendship was one-sided, in Sam's favor, but Frodo was just as attached to Sam as Sam was to him. They were heart-friends, or "tanhu", in the fey tongue. It was a beautiful sight to see that friendship, deep and silent and content, and Kerra was left in wonder of the halflings that were able to give so much of themselves in love, and yet end more whole than they had begun. 

Contrary to her fears, Kerra found that a warm friendship had grown between Anemosi and Frodo as well. In spite of the warring influence of the Ring upon both of them, the two of them were still able to relate to each other's suffering and find an affection for the other through their love for Sam. There was joy in the midst of the hardship, but Kerra could take no part in the rejoicing. She simply could not resign herself to letting Anemosi love another. Her devotion to Anemosi and her passion for Anemosi were at a mortal war. There seemed to be no escape for her tormented heart, until one night, she heard a whisper in her sleep that beckoned with an answer. There was a way, it seemed, to have both Anemosi and save the fey. 

At this most delicate moment, the Ring took Kerra. 

She slid through the halls of the great house, silent and imminent. She knew where the Ringbearer slept, of course, she knew where all of them slept. She would take the Ring, and become great!   
  
She would no longer be Kerra Ojona, leader of the fey armies. She would become a creature of more than flesh and bone and spirit...she could echo in every breath of every living thing! They would worship her, fear her, adore her...fall at her feet in frenzied multitudes, begging her for mercy and singing her praises in the same breath. Oh, the joy! And, through it all, as she rose above Middle-Earth, great and unknowable, she could have Anemosi by her side. Anemosi, to be her own, with those piercing mercury eyes lighting on her with passion and servitude! She, Kerra, would be called Eternity! The Lady of the Fey herself would fall to the side, weeping her outcast state as Kerra walked by, immense and powerful, with the Lady Radika bowing low to her. It would be glorious; Sauron would be defeated in a sweep of her hand, and she could laugh in Sam's face as he tried to catch a last glimpse of Anemosi! Oh, how she would laugh! 

There it was! The door to Frodo's room...it was too easy! She slipped under the curtain, her eyes wide with excitement and her breath coming heavy and sour in her throat. Kerra stole to the bed, her hand groping over Frodo's body in search of her prize. In her haste, her delicacy of movement was lost, and her rough movements awoke Frodo. 

With a cry, he sprang away, clutching the Ring in his hand as he stared in wild disbelief at Kerra. She was wilder than ever, with her curls spilling out of their usual braids to form a blood-red corona around her head, and her eyes were glowing with a lust more deadly than any sword. 

"Give it to me, halfing!" she hissed, creeping forward. Her face had shriveled into something small and hard, like a old chunk of coal, and her hands were grasping towards him. A sickening sense of no escape hit Frodo as instant before her fists did, and his cries were choked off as her strong hands embraced his throat. He tried to beat her off, but she merely slammed his head back into the wall and knocked him unconscious. With a moan, he slipped into darkness and Kerra, with a low laugh of satisfaction, drew the Ring from around his neck and dropped it around her own. As the heavy Ring settled between her breasts, it seemed to freeze against her, and the heat of her fevered skin could not warm it. A chunk of ice lay both over and where her heart should have been. 


	21. The Horror

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Boo-hoo! 

**************** 

Anemosi started awake. A nameless terror had gripped her, filling her stomach with ice and her mind with whirling images of pain. Frodo, striking his head on the wall...the Ring, lifted by a pale hand...Kerra, laughing as she stroked the Ring as it lay upon her chest...   
  
"No!" She exploded out of bed, throwing Sam away from her as he awoke abruptly. 

"Anemosi, what is it?" He had not seen her so terrified since he had found her in the forest those five years ago. 

"The Ring has taken Kerra!" Anemosi wailed. Her voice, strident and despairing, awoke the entire house, with those who could hear her affected by the frenzied feelings of desperation and fear that spiraled outward from Anemosi's chambers. She sprinted out of the room, shoving confused fey out of her way as she ran wildly through the halls with Sam hot on her heels. 

They reached Frodo's room just as Kerra was leaving them. Anemosi barely stifled a scream as she saw the changes that greed had wrought over her closest friend, but as she met Kerra's eyes, pity turned to horror as she saw the lust reflected there. 

"My precious Anemosi," Kerra said, her voice rough and sibilant. She slid forward, moving with pressure over the floor, to smooth her hand over Anemosi's cheek. She stiffened at the contact, the Ring biting at her like a wolf. Kerra's breathing was hard and fast, and before Sam could react Kerra had slammed her mouth against Anemosi's lips, forcing her tongue past the barrier of lip and teeth to delve into Anemosi's mouth. Anemosi screamed in pain, Kerra's kiss searing her face with agony, but she was powerless to resist as Kerra forced herself even farther into Anemosi's mouth. 

Sam swung his arm into Kerra's exposed back, but the power of the Ring was heavy upon her, and almost indifferently smashed him backwards into the wall. He was struggling to get up and Kerra began kicking him over and over in the stomach, her kicks hitting lower and lower until he dropped into unconsciousness. Her rival gone, Kerra turned back to Anemosi, her gaze heated to the boiling point. Anemosi was coughing and retching blood, clutching her belly, but Kerra shoved her back up against the wall and effortlessly ripped her light robe away, revealing the smooth breasts and delicate collarbone she had long desired and was now to receive. She growled as she saw the scar between the breasts, dark and heavy, and eyed a terrified Anemosi in anger. 

"You received this from protecting the halfing...but he is no longer your concern!" Kerra fastened her mouth around Anemosi's nipple, biting hard enough to draw blood, and Anemosi's anguished screams were enough to draw forth Aragorn and Legolas from their rooms. The nightmarish scene was enough to haunt them for the rest of their lives; Sam spilled across the floor, Kerra in the process of raping Anemosi, and the still, still form of Frodo just barely glimpsed through the doorway. 

"Ai-ya!" screamed Aragorn, drawing his sword and driving at Kerra. Before he could reach her, Kerra had slipped on the Ring and vanished. Legolas watched in horror as Anemosi was dragged up into the air by unseen hands and as long gouges were scraped by nails down her bruised breasts. She screamed weakly and fell to the ground, weeping softly as she tried to gather the shreds of her gown about her. Aragorn could hear fevered breathing as something moved past him, and he swung out a muscular arm and caught a small form as it tried to escape him. He wrestled with the creature furiously...he could no longer even think of Kerra as a living creature after witnessing the devastation the Ring had visited upon her. He bellowed in pain as a set of sharp teeth sunk into his wrist, but he was able to hold on long enough to slam Kerra to the floor. Dazed, she was powerless to resist as he placed his booted foot over her neck and applied the slightest pressure to her windpipe. 

"Take off the Ring!" he yelled, pressing down ever more slightly. He could hear Kerra gurgling under his foot, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Legolas easing Anemosi to her feet and covering her ravaged, naked body with his cloak. When Kerra failed to respond, he stamped down hard, and in a flash she appeared underneath him, the Ring clutched in a white hand. The look of hatred in her possessed eyes was enough to shrink his heart, but not his bravery, and he ripped the chain off her neck and withdrew. He made one mistake; he turned his back on Kerra. With a roar of fury, she rose and slammed into him, tearing and biting with all her strength. 

"Do you think I'd let a halfling have her, over me?! FOOL!" She clamped her teeth into his neck, trying to rip out his jugular, and Anemosi watched in dazed horror as Aragorn fell to his knees, a stream of blood trailing down his neck. A choked scream escaped her bloody lips as, without warning, she saw Tasla rearing up behind Kerra, appearing out of nowhere as usual, and stabbing Kerra with one of the enchanted fey daggers. 

Kerra froze, her face draining of any blood, and slid down to the floor in a crumpled pile of flesh and bones. Anemosi burst into tears and shrank into Legolas' hold, her eyes fearful and mistrustful. Tasla had gone deathly white, staring at the bloody dagger in her hand and shaking. For a moment, all that could be heard was Anemosi's low weeping and the groans of Aragorn as he tried to staunch his bleeding neck. 

Kerra's eyes fluttered open. They were clear, but pained, and her face had relaxed in its usual expression. She moaned, and tried to sit up, blood leaking slowly out of the stab wound on her back. A single tear fell from her eye as she surveyed the damage she had caused. 

"Oh, Lady, forgive me...the Ring took me..." Anemosi looked away, shaking, and Kerra broke into hoarse, ripping sobs that left her retching and weak on the floor. 

The enchanted dagger had done its work; it had broken the hold the Ring had held upon Kerra, and it would only weaken her, not kill her. The most grievous injury she had sustained was the loss of Anemosi's trust. Kerra rose unsteadily from the floor, and stumbled to where Anemosi was standing. Falling on her knees, she touched her head to the ground, her tears pooling on the ground. 

"Forgive me, Lady...I did not know what I was doing...oh, Sam, Frodo, forgive me..." As her voice decayed into sobs, Tasla gripped her around the arms and began to lead her away, when a sudden scream, hissing and shrill, broke the air. Legolas could feel every muscle in Anemosi's body stiffen, and a familiar light leapt into Kerra's eyes. 

"The Nazgul!" growled Aragorn, his hand falling from his neck. "They felt the Ring!" 

"And they're coming back..." Kerra's voice trailed away as her gaze sought out Anemosi's, and as their eyes met, she could see that all was forgiven. She suddenly heard Anemosi's voice in her head. 

*Dearest friend, I cannot throw your devotion away so lightly...but you have work to do. Go.* Kerra nodded, and ran away with a barely concealed sob of relief leaving her lips. Tasls stared at Anemosi in shock, but a single look from the Lady Radika was enough to answer any question she may have had. There was work to do. The final battle was about to begin, and as Anemosi was kneeling at a just-waking Sam's side as Legolas was seeing to Frodo, a chill wind blew down the hall and a scent of decay seemed to fill the air. 

In a breath, the Lord Radik was standing before. He smiled as he stared upon the shivering form of his daughter, and his lips seemed to drip blood.   
"Hello, my darling...I have returned for you, and I will not be turned aside." 

****************** 

To be continued...   



	22. The Father

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Only in dreams. 

***************** 

Anemosi rose. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, and she was painfully aware of how her gown was ripped in all the wrong places. Her father's gaze slid over her, carving her bare beneath clothes, flesh, and bone, and like their last encounter, she felt him moving in her mind. He was seeking for a break in her armor, but this time she was prepared.   
  
*PAIN!* she thought, and it was as if a thousand arrows were shot out of her mind and lodged themselves in her father's skull. He stumbled backwards, and in the time she had won, she shouted at Aragorn and Legolas. 

"Take them! Get Frodo and Sam out of here!" 

Aragorn stared at her. Her eyes were wild and dilated, but her commands were not to be disobeyed. She shot him a murderous glance as he paused. 

"What are you waiting for? Do as I say!" 

He needed no other warning. He lifted Sam's groaning form and heaved the hobbit over his shoulder. Legolas had already taken Frodo from his room and was running for the stairs. Tasla had stepped up behind Anemosi, ready to lend any support she could, but Anemosi's voice echoed in her head as Tasla was drawing her sword. 

*Go! Aid Kerra...and keep her away from the Ringbearer. This is my battle.* As Tasla reluctantly disappeared, she could see Lord Radik pulling himself off the ground and facing his daughter. 

They faced each other in the now-empty hallway. Just being in his presence made the cuts on her face and breasts burn like threads of fire, and her sore muscles were amplified agonizingly. She felt dizzy, and as the seconds ticked by, she could feel her strength leeching away, falling like raindrops flowing down flower petals. She turned her head aside to catch her breath, and her father struck in that instant. 

His blow seared her in a volley of fire, scorching the flesh on the side of her chest and arm. She cried out weakly as the scent of burning meat filled her nostrils. 

Below her, on the stairs, Sam heard her cry and fought in vain against Aragorn to try and reach her. Aragorn held on to the hobbit with a desperate strength, knowing that Sam would make an easy target for the destruction about to take place. 

Back on the landing, Anemosi had staggered to her feet. Her father was circling her, chuckling darkly as his hands formed something hideous within their geometries. Her skin was blackened where he had hit her, and she had no doubt that his next blow would be even worse. 

With a roar, she leapt at his throat, hoping that a physical attack would catch him off guard. He was stunned long enough for her to dig her nails into his neck and rip downwards, but he swung his arm into her stomach and sent her flying into the wall. Her vision went red, and before she could react, he was digging long claws into the soft flesh of her belly. She gritted her teeth against the pain, and slammed her head into his as hard as she could. Lord Radik fell backwards, and Anemosi gathered as much force as she could into one hand and slammed it against his solar plexus, shooting a solid shaft of pain straight through him with a shouted word. He roared in agony, bitter foam gathering at the edge of his mouth. 

Casting about in the subtle wells of Power that shaped the world, she plucked an ancient spell of defense, drawing it down into her hand like a spill of diamonds. She scattered it at him, the shards slicing his face and carving away skin wherever they landed. In the rush of primal satisfaction that filled her when she saw her enemy cowering on the floor, she forgot that although he was without weapons, he was not without his own deadly defenses. 

He slashed his own wrist open, spilling his potent blood into his palm, and breathed a word into the shifting liquid which he then sent spattering into Anemosi's face. She barely dodged the venomous fluid, but caught a few drops on her skirts, where it pocked and burned the thin fabric. 

Now, the magic began. There was no more petty physical fighting; that was left for the lesser fighters. This battle was of a more subtle type, ancient and wild. And its two combatants were more than ready. 

This was what Anemosi had been born for, the defense of her home and people. She lashed out with the force of destiny behind every blow, and every wall in Siobhangé shook as the powers that rushed together tore upwards from the bowels of the earth. 

Beads of sweat swung out from her face as she whipped around to face her father, growing barbed and serrated as they flashed through the air. Her very body and its elements had become her greatest weapons as she battled for the safety of the fey in a lonely corridor while below, Sam wailed in fear for his beloved. 

Aragorn cradled the little hobbit, whose body shook in tandem with every blow and scream that echoed from upstairs. His body had broken out in welts and bruises, and to a newly-awakened Frodo's horror, his eyes had taken on an unearthly glow, deep and silvered around the edges. 

*What is happening to him?* Frodo moaned silently, still reeling from the blows Kerra had delivered to him. A rumble from the floor above them made Sam scream shrilly and thrash in Aragorn's arms, his teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to draw a rivulet of blood. Frodo's gaze flew to the stairs as a flash lit up the landing in a blinding glare. A hoarse shriek floated down the stairs and the smells of decay and burning were overpowering. The four of them crouched on the stairs, too afraid to move while the battle was still going on, yet held there by a sickening curiosity. 


	23. The Death

Back on the landing, the battle raged on. The two combatants had managed to create huge holes in the walls and ceiling as they fought, and the damage they had inflicted on each other was almost as devastating. Anemosi had ceased to think of her father as even alive, and was slashing out at her enemy like a creature possessed. Every drop of fury was squeezed from her system and was vented upon the minion of darkness that had corrupted her beloved father. No outside force could enter her sphere of being, no stimulus from the outside world hold her attention. She did not realize how the battle was affecting Sam until a cry in a voice better known than her own floated up the stairs, and she was distracted at the worst time possible.   
  
"Sam!" she gasped, realizing that every move that she made was causing him to suffer below her. She didn't see the ball of furious ice coming at her as she moved unconsciously in the direction of the voice. The freezing sphere struck her in the chest and knocked her over like a sapling, and she lay gasping and wheezing for breath on the floor. 

He had driven her back against a wall, and there seemed to be no escape. He was leaning in, his face looming large and hideous in her view. A vein was ticking in his neck and his breathing came thick and fast as he wrapped clammy hands around her throat. Lord Radik grinned at her shivering form, weak and prone before him. 

"Say goodbye to all of this, Lady Radika," he hissed, triumph gleaming in his eyes. "Your Lady has failed you, and the Quest will fall to dust. You were not ready for the power of the Dark Lord." One cold hand slid down from her neck as the other held her fast against the wall in spite of her struggles. 

Below, Sam's movements slowed and fell away into nothing, his breathing growing ragged and then dying away. Frodo gripped his hand, now grown cold, fear of the worst clouding his heart as he realized what was happening to his friend: as Anemosi weakened and failed, so did Sam. 

Lord Radik's hand dove under the ruins of her dress, and came to rest upon the scar from his black sword. She moaned weakly as a deadly chill settled between her breasts. Lord Radik smiled as he felt her weakening under his power, and he pressed down upon her breastbone, trying to reach inside her subtle self and search out that place of power within her. 

Sam moaned once, and his hands went limp in Frodo's as his eyes rolled back in his head. His breathing stopped totally, and he fell back in Aragorn's arms, lost to all. 

Lord Radik had won. He was within her, a spirit buried inside that most precious place that hid all her secrets from view, from destruction, and he pulled...oh Lady, he was pulling her very will out of her! The very power that had saved her before was being ripped away like sheets away from a bed. She was falling, falling forever, curled around herself, and dropping like a leaf into the silent abyss, and there was nothing at the bottom, there was no bottom... 

Her hand fell upon the enchanted dagger Tasla had used to distract Kerra. Hope, the eternal weed of the spirit's garden, sprang in her heart, and she locked his fist around the hilt. With the last of her vast strength, she pulled her heavy, heavy arm upward and sheathed the knife in what was left of her father's heart. 

Time froze in a rushing of wind. She dragged the dagger downward, her entire being crying out against her act of defense, but this was the only way to survive.   
His hands dropped away from her body and Lord Radik fell away from her to tumble like a bag of bones across the floor. There was a gaping hole in his chest, and she could see a diaphanous form moving within her father's body that evaporated in a brief gust of wind. She gasped as the light within him went out. 

Below them, Aragorn heard Anemosi's small cry, and thinking the end had come, bent his head as tears came to his eyes. In his arms, however, Sam stirred and opened his eyes, now only large and brown. One victory over the darkness had been won. 

******************* 

Anemosi shrank against the wall, fearing another onslaught, but as her father tried to rise, blood, real, true blood, spilled out of his mouth in a river of death. He was shrinking, his flesh paling and his eyes warm and sad. She sobbed brokenly and crawled to his side just as the four who had waited on the stairs stumbled on to the landing. 

Lord Radik was saved, but at a terrible price. Death was the only escape for a fey from the Dark Lord, and he was fading fast. The dagger jutted sickeningly from his stomach, but his eyes were loving as he reached out a shaking hand to his daughter. 

"My dearest Anemosi..." His voice was gentle, free of the rougher tones that had plagued it while he had been controlled by hate. "Forgive me, my love...I could not fight it off, though I tried my hardest...I hurt you, though I love you...I have failed you all." 

"No, no, father," Anemosi whispered. "It was not your fault." She cradled her father's hand in between her own, clutching it to her chest as tears washed tracks down through the blood and sweat on her face. "You cannot be blamed!" 

Lord Radik's head fell back to the floor. "Master Samwise, come forward." His voice could barely be heard, but Anemosi beckoned Sam to come to her father's side to hear the last words. Sam knelt unsteadily on the floor, sickened by the blood spattered everywhere, but he bent his head to listen to the fading voice of the freed Lord Radik. The words were brief, but potent and not to be disobeyed. 

"If you love her, Master Samwise, you must take her with you. They will take her if you do not keep her safe, and our people will fail...she is their life, the Lady Radika...they always have been..." His eyes closed, and just as Sam thought he was gone, a strong but battered hand closed around his wrist and drew him farther down, his pointed ear almost touching Lord Radik's bloody mouth. 

"If you love her, you will do what I could not...you must save her. I love her, but I could not stop them...may you succeed where I could not." The hand dropped away, and his head turned to Anemosi. Lord Radik's hand lifted itself to Anemosi's cheek and touched it lightly, full of all a father's love and pride. 

"Forgive me, my daughter, I must leave you now...thank you, thank for saving..." His voice dropped away, and he was gone. Tehr, Lord Radik of the Fey, was dead.   



	24. The Question

***********   
Anemosi had been inconsolable. In the aftermath of the battle with her father, every last defense had broken down, and only Sam could comfort her. Even in his own weakened state, he had insisted upon carrying her back to her rooms and staying with her there.   
  
This time, he was the one who bathed her, his rough hands washing away the blood and sweat from her battle, and his heart nearly broke as he saw the devastation wreaked upon her body; the torn flesh of her belly, her bruised and gouged breasts, the cuts on her face and neck. When the last of the grime was cleaned away, his tears still fell upon her skin, and she came around from her own grief long enough to see his own. She cried beautifully, with tears dropping from her eyes without any trace of redness or swelling, and they clung together in the warm water of her bath, weeping into each other's arms. 

"Sam," she whispered after a time. He drew away slowly, kissing away the tears that clung to edge of her jawline. 

"I love you." She smiled bravely, and kissed him long and hard. she never would have survived the nightmare weeks without him, and her place was by his side, nowhere else. 

He felt like weeping anew as he caught the feeling in her voice. He would have died if someone had tried to take her away from him now, he was sure of it. They needed each other to live; she pulsed too freely in his veins for him to survive away from her. 

"Anemosi, I...I have a question for you." She waited patiently for him to speak, her arms looped about his neck. 

"Your father told me before...he told me...to take you with us, when we go. And I was just thinking, see, when this whole Quest is over, if we make it--" 

"Sam," she interrupted, her eyes reflecting the water. "What are you trying to say?" 

He took a deep breath. "Anemosi, what I'm trying to say is, when it's all over, if you'll want to come back to the Shire and be...and be my wife." 

Her face contracted, and as she turned away he felt his heart shatter. What had he been thinking? His life fell apart in the space of a few seconds. 

"I'm sorry, Anemosi," he said as he pulled away from her, the water feeling cold against his skin. "I should've known you wouldn't have wanted to be just the wife of a gardener." He rose out of the water, trying to hold together long enough to get away from her. 

"Sam." Her voice stopped him, and he crushed all hope as he turned slowly to face her. She nervously splashed in the water as she raised her eyes to meet his. 

"You didn't let me answer you." She smiled slightly, and as the moonlight caught her eyes he thought his heart would burst as she went on. She heaved herself out of the water, not heeding the pain in her body, and threw herself into his arms. 

"There is nothing," Kiss. "That I want more," Kiss. "Than to be," Kiss. "Your wife." Kiss. 

He made an inarticulate cry of joy. He had not known it was possible to be so happy. They were both laughing and kissing happily when the contact of skin against skin became noticeable, and then irresistible. She broke away from his mouth long to leave a slow trail of kisses down his throat and chest, ending at one nipple with a swirl of tongue. He moaned, driving his hands into her hair as she traveled lower, tracing the light, damp trail of hair that moved down his stomach and lower. She stopped just before she reached the part of him that cried out most for her touch, and he lifted her bodily in his arms and carried her to the bed with barely controlled urgency. 

It was his turn to torment her with his mouth, and he took his time even as her breathing turned to soft moans of pleasure as he sought out new areas to explore. He kissed every wound on her delicate body, and her moans turned to cries that made him nearly lose control. It was more than just the physical act, beautiful as it was; this act was a promise of devotion that cemented the bond long ago begun in the woods, when a simple gardener had saved the life of a princess, and so lodged her in his heart forever. 

Two hearts twined together as two bodies joined in ecstasy. Their lovemaking was comforting, life-affirming, and wildly pleasurable, but beyond any of that, it was sweet beyond longing, and just one way they could express their love. The end, when it came, was swift and passed too quickly, but those moments lived on in the delicious feelings that filled the pair as they cuddled together in the moonlight. They may have been afraid of what lay ahead, but they would face it together, and somehow, that made everything better.   



	25. The Agony

***************   


A week passed with nothing but silence coming from the forest beyond the city. A week where the tension was unbearable, and a week in which Anemosi and Gandalf were yet again concealed within the strangely aware room. Merry and Pippin had accidentally stumbled upon it as they roamed through the palace, and retreated back to Frodo's rooms in tears, where they told a stunned Sam and Frodo that the room had "growled" at them as they passed it.   
  
Gandalf announced the seventh night after Lord Radik's death that the Fellowship would leave Siobhangé the next day. He did not explain how, he answered no questions. The only reply he would give to any inquiries was to say that a way had been prepared, and that all should be ready. 

Sam was more than ready to depart; the atmosphere of barely contained aggression was driving him to distraction, and he was more worried for Anemosi than ever. Whatever great works had been performed in that secluded room were beyond him, but he knew how they were affecting her, and he hated it. Every moment they could snatch away from the others was spent together, talking softly and laughing as they began to piece together their new life in the Shire. Among the roses in the gardens, it was easy to forget pain and suffering, and he treasured the moments that he spent singing songs from the Shire to Anemosi as she curled up in his arms.   
Time passed all too quickly when they were together, whether in the gardens or in her rooms, but their love only deepened the more they discovered about each other. 

Others, however, were not so joyful. 

Kerra was self-exiled from all those around her, moving in stunned silence about the city and avoiding the eyes of all. She avoided the palace as if it carried the plague, and Tasla found her weeping in her rooms at night, sobbing over the loss of Anemosi, and the loss of innocence. 

The rest of the fey were in shock. The Nazgul were merely waiting outside the walls of the city, waiting for a cue to attack, and the multitudes of orcs around them were enough to weaken even the strongest hearts. The majority of the fey did not know that Anemosi was to go with the Fellowship when they left, and they would never know; if any survived the coming battle, they would believe that she had died too. It was a poisonous lie, bitter in Tasla and Kerra's minds, but a necessary one. 

The hours passed like magma, both slow and deadly. At night, when even the renowned fey archers were unable to see very far into the forest, the orcs left the remains of the fey warriors who had been caught alone in Ré-Nancet, desperate to reach the city. It was a hideous sight, and one that Tasla prevented Anemosi from seeing. The Lady Radika spent most of that last day locked in the chamber with Gandalf, and the magic that spilled out of the doorjamb was a most potent sort, and any who were caught in its flow were changed in some inexplicable way. 

The different tribes of the fey were involved in their own special combat preparations. Those from the city of Seciov, the legendary Flyers, spent the hours caring for the magnificent wings, made of radiant feathers that put the phoenix's plumage to shame. The Triamti, the infantry, practiced their hand-to-hand combat to the point of exhaustion. After all the preparations were finished, however, there was nothing to do but wait in the soul-sapping heat of Ré-Nancet. 

A rustling came from the foliage, and a silent warning flew through the city. Everyone of fighting age was called to fight, with only a few parents chosen to protect the children, who were hidden in a warren of tunnels under the houses. The guardians of the young were armed, but for a different defense than the warriors of above, for they could not have been expected to last long against an orc horde. In the event that Siobhangé fell and the fey were destroyed, the children were to be placed into deep sleeps from which there was no waking them. No more of the fey than necessary would be subjected to death at the hands of the orcs. 

At the first sign of trouble, the Fellowship had been taken away to the deserted hallway where the secret room awaited them. Anemosi and Gandalf had worked round the clock in a fit of urgent energy to finish their work that lay behind the door, but the hour for escape was coming swiflt and even their great powers did not seem to be able to complete it soon enough. Time was a precious element that they could not get enough of, and the time for departure was drawing frighteningly near. 

The battle broke like a nightmare at an unseen command. 

With a roar like the gates of hell opening, the first line of orcs smashed against each of the four Great Gates to the city.When the doors, great and ancient, finally fell to the offensive, a solid block of a thousand Triamti were waiting, their blood boiling at the desecration of the most holy of the fey grounds. The two armies smashed together, black on white, corrupt on pure, and their screams mixed in an unholy choir of pain. The Triamti carried with them the battle maces and axes that had thirsted for so long for the blood of the orcs; the weapons whistled in the air as they drove over and over into orc flesh. Despite the expertise that the weapons were yielded with, the Triamti warriors fell to the orc blades in great numbers. 

At the very instant that the Triamti were weakening and the orcs seemed to be gaining the upper hand, the Seciov swooped with blood-freezing cries from the spires of the towers of the city. Their wings caught in the air, making a deadly music of their own as the flying warriors streaked down towards their stricken allies. The Seciov carried with them as their weapons of choice what were known to the fey as "perels", tiny spined spheres that burrowed into whatever surface they came into contact with until the victim was dead. The perels were deadly; just one could eviscerate an orc in the space of a few seconds, ripping them apart from the inside out. 

Never before had such a defense been mounted in the history of the fey; never before had the houses worked together in such a grand scale. Now, they were fighting for their very right to exist. 

The orcs that managed to escape the combined fury of the two fey armies carved a wedge-shaped path into the city, cutting down any fey that stood in their way. The orcs, being, for the most part, fairly stupid, began to believe that killing all the fey would be easy. Unfortunately, they didn't realize that the worst was yet to come. 

As the orcs reached the palace and were preparing to batter down the doors, they swung open to reveal the most deadly fey warriors of all: the Vadik, those that had come to the aid of the Fellowship in the forest. Kerra stood foremost in all her violent glory, her hair braided tightly about her head and her eyes glittering with a fire that was an ancient lust for blood. 

"Alii-noyre!" she shrieked in the fey tongue as she drew her twin, curved swords. No mercy. 

With a deathly roar, she broke the line and dove into the orcs, moving in a blur of silver and crimson as her body whirled too fast to be focused on by any living eye. She had shredded two orcs into bloody strips of flesh before the rest of the Vadik had enough time to answer her battle cry, and then, the fey unleashed a nightmare of their own. 

Concealed by the towers of the palace, the non-physical warriors of the fey, the songweavers, chanted chaos down upon the invading armies. Linking hands and breathing in unison, they "thought" death upon the enemies. Orcs found themselves heaved into the air by unseen hands and torn apart by invisible fangs. The Vadik and the Triamti were covered by a rain of black orc blood as the songweavers annihilated any orc they could get their minds upon. The Seciov hovered above the carnage, following any hapless orc that managed to escape the fury of the earthly warriors, and running them to ground with their deadly arsenal of perels. 

Victory seemed near; the fey warriors were too powerful, even after ages of hiding away from the world, for the orcs to stand a chance against them. Fate, however, had other plans. 

Through the ruins of the Summer Gate, a horde of goblin warriors, riding the slavering wargs, charged into the city. Their screams caught Kerra's sharp hearing, and she raised her bloody face from a shivering orc long enough to see the goblins descending upon them. 

The wargs made short work of the fey that stood in their path, with the goblin arrows and spears tearing the Seciov from their beloved sky. The battle was well and truly tied, for even the Vadik were weakening, and would not last against the goblins and the remnants of the orcs.   



	26. The Escape

************   


Anemosi was watching the battle impassively from a hidden window near the secret room she had prepared with Gandalf. Sam could not watch the violence, and he had been forced to leave her side almost immediately as the bloodshed nearly made him vomit. Aragorn had tried to draw her away, but guilt over her impending departure held her to the window.   
  
When she saw the goblins, she screamed, her voice shattering the tension. 

"No!" Aragorn whirled from his place down the hall to see her scrabbling to crawl out the window. 

"Anemosi!" He barely grabbed a slender ankle before she had escaped. "You cannot go!" 

"I must, you fool! Let me go!" She struggled wildly, twisting in his grip. "I must help them!" 

"Lady!" Gandalf's voice made her freeze. "It is almost ready; there is no turning back now!" She looked at him with such sorrow and pain in her eyes that the old wizard stopped. Merry's brow creased as he watched her allow herself to be pulled back into the room. What was this "it" Gandalf had mentioned? He was about to ask when a peculiar light came into Anemosi's eyes, and she turned back to the window. 

"If I cannot join them, I will summon others who can!" Without warning, she ripped Legolas' dagger from where it hung at his waist and slashed her wrist with it. Sam cried out and ran to her side, but she barely flinched, and gathered up the luminous blood in her hand and scattered it out the window on the wind. 

"Riut tjojullé!" she shouted, and within seconds an answering rumble echoed from the rainbow foliage of Ré-Nancet. She smiled grimly as she gripped her bleeding arm to stop the flow of blood. "They are coming!" 

*They?* thought Pippin in confusion, but just as he was opening his mouth to speak, a roar slammed heavily against his ears, almost knocking him backwards with percussive force. The ground below them, where the battle still raged, exploded in a shower of earth, blowing orcs and goblins to pieces as the great beasts of dark shadows, the Shadok, clambered out to aid the fey. 

Merry felt a chill winding up his spine as he saw the creatures that had carried him to Siobhangé that long-ago night as he lay swimming in pain. In the light, their true form became apparent: silky-pelted, with narrow heads and spindly legs that ended in three-clawed paws. Unlike the wargs, these beasts had more weapons than just claws and teeth; they had their own potent magic, allowing them to disappear and reappear within seconds in different places. The seemingly fragile limbs had the strength of mithril, and the Shadok made short work of the goblins that had survived their explosive arrival. 

The tide of battle had yet again turned, but the Fellowship was grew afraid when they heard the sounds of combat entering the palace. Anemosi turned to Gandalf with wide eyes. 

"Is it ready?" 

Gandalf shook his shaggy head as he ran his hands over the door to the secluded room. "Not yet..." 

Anemosi roared in frustration. "We have no time!" Leaving her place by the window, she shoved Gandalf out of the way, despite the huge difference in sizes, and slammed her hands against the door. "It must be ready!" 

She began to chant, her voice rising and falling in a cadence that pulsed in all their hearts. Her eyes darkened and the glow of her skin seemed to fade as she poured all of her power into readying whatever lay behind the door. 

Sam watched in impotent horror as she drained herself, forcing herself to eject all her energy into the secrets behind the door. Her voice was lost in the tumult as the agent behind the door awoke and started to move, pressing against the door and struggling to be freed. Below them, the floor was shaking as the battle moved inward and up within the palace. 

All other sounds were lost as the now-familiar shriek of the Nazgul split the air the Fellowship breathed. Frodo gripped the Ring in a freezing cold hand, hoping with all his being that Anemosi's work was finished before the Ringwraiths arrived, but the more of herself that she put into her workings behind the door, the more it seemed to need. 

Sam could take no more of watching her suffer and with a groan he forced his way through the maelstrom of power that flowed around her and tried to pull her away from the door. Locking strong arms around Anemosi's waist he pulled, but as he watched, her fingertips grew into the surface of the door as if her fingers were roots to a silver plant. She screamed in pain before the contact broke, and she fell back into his arms, panting and sobbing as she turned to look at Gandalf. 

"Now, Gandalf! We have to go now! They tried to stop me...they nearly broke me!" Gandalf's lips parted in protest, but the sounds of battle were too close, and the shrieks of the Nazgul seemed to come from behind him. He heaved himself to the door, grasped the handle, and pulled it open.   



	27. The Defeat

********** 

The Fellowship gasped in unison as they realized what Anemosi and Gandalf had been creating in that room of secrets: it was an escape route, a magic path cut through the very fabric of the earth to take them as far along on the Quest as the combined powers of Anemosi and Gandalf could take them. At the end of the swirling tunnel hung mountains, and the snowy peak of Caradhras was barely visible.   
  
"Take the little ones!" Gandalf bellowed to Boromir, who gathered a stunned Merry and Pippin in his arms. Boromir paused at the threshold of the room, fearing the unknown powers that moved there, but Gandalf urged him on. "Go, you fool! There is no time!" 

The rest of the Fellowship herded after Boromir, leaping into the whirling vortex to slowly fade and drift away, but Anemosi paused at the threshold as a vision froze her in her tracks. 

What was this? She saw herself with Sam, traveling over a snowy mountain peak that chilled her just to see in her mind. She saw herself fighting the orcs in a dank, dark cave, side by side with Sam. She saw a demon beyond any horror her imagination could endure dragging Gandalf into the darkness. What in the name of the Lady was she seeing? 

The vision continued, so vivid it made her sick. The images changed; she saw herself crawling towards Frodo as he slept...Sweet Lady! She was taking the Ring! Frodo was struggling against her, she was beating him...a blast from her hand silenced him forever. Merry, Pippin, Aragorn...they all fell to her as she slipped on the Ring and lost to them all. She saw the free lands falling under her own potency, and innocents dying in unprecedented numbers... 

Worst of all, she saw herself destroying Sam as he tried to save Frodo. 

*What is this?* she wailed inwardly. *What have I seen?* 

*It is what will happen if you go with them.* The voice of the Lady sounded in her mind, quiet and yet strong enough to make it seem like her skull was splitting in two. *They will die if you follow them. The Ring will take you, and all will be lost. You must remain here...we have work to do, my Lady Radika.* 

The voice faded, but not the command. This was the price, for the days of love? To never see Sam again? This was the cost of the Power? She would rather die than lose him after waiting for him all these years...but the will of the Lady could not be disobeyed. Agonizingly, she raised her head to stare at Sam as he extended his hand to pull her in. 

"Anemosi, c'mon!" He was urging her, bewildered, wondering why she did not move. 

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't go with you, Sam." 

Oh no. Not this. Anything but this. No no no no nononono. She has to come she has to come she has to come... 

"Anemosi, hurry!" He begged her, his arms extended as tears began to blind him. "Please!" 

"I can't go!" she wailed above the wind in the room. "I'm sorry, Sam!" 

"Why not?!" he cried, his eyes betraying the breaking of his heart. "Anemosi, you can't leave me!" 

"I will take the Ring if I go with you!" she screamed, and caught his hand. Was there time for one last kiss? She tried to reach him, fighting against every instinct in her body and soul that told her to forget the Lady and her people and run away. One last kiss... 

No. There was no time. she could hear the Nazgul behind her, and the screams of her people as they died. Sam was being drawn away, she could feel it, time was running out... 

"I'm sorry!" she cried as she tried to hold on to his hand as long as she could. "I just tried to touch you...one last time." 

He was weeping; his heart was breaking. "Anemosi, no!" 

She was drawing back; her hand was on the handle of the door. she had never looked so beautiful as she did in that instant as her tears fell on his hand. The taena was burning against his chest, searing him, but the pain was nothing to the pain of this final farewell. 

"Anemosi!" She was fading... 

He could barely hear her reply. "Oh Sam...I love you..." 

She was gone, the door slammed shut, and the screams of the Nazgul were shut off. He seemed to drop forever, drowning in a silent agony, but he opened his eyes into the sunlight in front of the Fellowship. Frodo ran to his side, but Sam stumbled numbly to his feet and shoved Frodo away. No comfort could assuage him, no friendship dull the heavy pain in his chest. He staggered away from his companions and fell sobbing in a small cove of trees, curling up into a tiny ball of pain. 

The rest of the Nine waited for him to return, not knowing how to deal with this primal, devastating grief. Hours passed before Sam returned, silent, with dry, red-rimmed eyes. when Frodo tried to say something, he was cut off with an agonized stare from his friend. It was understood, at that point, that Anemosi was a name one could not mention around Sam. He never truly recovered, and even his smiles were sad at the edges. Frodo was thankful for his friend's safety, but another thought stuck in Frodo's mind: Sam may have been alive, yes, but his heart was far, far away. And how long could he survive without it? 

*********************** 

Elanor sat before her father with tears streaming from her eyes. Kerra's head was bowed and her traveling skirts were spotted with teardrops that she tried to smooth away with her hands. Sam sighed deeply, as if a deep weight had come off his shoulders, and settled more deeply into his chair. 

"There you have it, Elanor. The story. The whole thing, nothing left out, no matter how hard it is for us to tell it." His brown eyes were sad as he gazed upon Anemosi's taena, cradling in his hand the last remnant of a love that had lasted through the years. After his voice faded away, there was silence for a long time in the light of the flickering fire. 

"Sam." That was Kerra's voice, low and sad, and Elanor wiped her eyes in time to see the fey warrior rise from her chair and come to kneel before her father. Kerra took Sam's hands in hers and looked him full in the eyes. 

"Forgive me, Sam...I never got to ask your forgiveness for what I did and...and that is why I have come here tonight." Her voice shivered and tears fell upon their intertwined hands. "To ask for your forgiveness, for my weakness." She barely held back a sob as she tried to meet Sam's eyes. 

Elanor watched her father...would he forgive Kerra for letting Ring take her? Stupid question; this was Samwise Gamgee, not a normal hobbit. 

"Oh, Kerra," he sighed, and smiled sadly. "I already did forgive you, see. A long time ago." 

She burst into tears and buried her head in his lap as he stroked the crimson curls gently, soothing the sobbing warrior. Elanor nearly wept again, amazed at her father's compassion once more. He never ceased to amaze her with his kindness in any situation. 

"Now, now, there, Kerra, stop your crying." Sam raised her tear-streaked face up to the light and smiled at her. "There'll be time enough for that when I say goodbye." 

Kerra frowned in confusion, but Sam only stared at her. A few seconds passed before her face cleared and she gasped in sudden realization. He only nodded, and gripped her hands tightly. 

"You'll come with me, my old friend?" 

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes full of tears again. "Oh Sam, why did you wait so long?" she breathed. "It's been so many years..."   
  
"I know," he sighed, "but there were things I had to do first. Mr. Frodo told me that I wouldn't always be torn in two, but that I am. It's time to be me again, all of me." 

"Papa, what are you saying?" Elanor whispered. Kerra and Sam stared at her as if noticing her for the first time. "Where are you going?" 

Sam sighed. "Elanor, it's time for me to leave, see. I've been wanting to do this for a long time now, and 'tis time to do it. I'm leaving for the Grey Havens tomorrow, to go...away." His voice drifted off as he stared out the window into the night. 

"I want you both to come with me, to see me off, like." His eyes were gentle and pleading. "There's no others I have to say goodbye to, see."   
Elanor stifled a sob. "Of course, Papa," she whispered brokenly. He was leaving? Her beloved father was going away? But he would be with Mr. Frodo again, and he deserved that, didn't he? 

But how could he be happy without that silver woman who had haunted his dreams for all these years? 

He rose out of his chair slowly, minding his old bones. "It's time for bed," he said softly. When Elanor rose to help him to his room, he waved her away with a wrinkled hand. 

"I can manage just fine on my own, dear." She nodded and retreated back to his chair, where she sat down opposite Kerra in silence. Her father disappeared down the hall, shuffling quietly with bent shoulders. Seeing him weighted down by age made Elanor begin to weep silently all over again. Until he had told his story, she had not realized how old he really was. 

Sam closed the door to his room with relief, reflecting quietly on the memories so long kept put away in his mind. He undressed slowly, and was about to crawl into his soft bed when the moonlight caught on the taena that still hung about his neck. The flash made his heart ache with the heaviness of all the memories of his love for Anemosi, which still lived, warm and content, deep in his heart. 

"I made a promise, Anemosi. I never forgot you...I never did." A chill breeze from the open window brushed past him, and he broke down into sobs for the first time that night. Alone and old, Samwise Gamgee wept for a life wasted without his love. 

************** 

The end is yet to come, my friends...will I make you cry? I know I did, writing this. 


	28. The Answers

*****************   


Elanor stared at Kerra through the flickering light of the fireplace. The fey woman's glittering eyes were focused deep within the flames, and for the first time Elanor saw deep scars marring the perfect skin on Kerra's cheek. With a shiver, Elanor realized that those were the scars that Kerra had received defending Anemosi from the Nazgul all those years ago. More than anything else, those scars were what brought home her father's story.   
  
"So it's all true," she said, half to herself. 

Kerra jumped slightly, her eyes shifting to focus on Elanor. "Of course it is. Do you doubt your father's word?" 

"How could I? He's never lied to anyone before...why should he start now?" Elanor said and rose from her chair. She crossed to the window and slammed it open, anger bubbling up within her. "It just doesn't seem fair! He's spent all these years pining after this Anemosi while my mother pined after him! She waited so long for him realize that those days of adventure were good and gone, but he never did! Never!" 

A warning look from Kerra reminded her to lower her voice, but she felt the tears coming and she could not hold them back. "Poor Mama..." Elanor whispered. "She only wanted to be a good wife and mother." 

"And wasn't she?" Kerra asked calmly, her face betraying no emotion. "Mistress Rose raised thirteen wonderful children, andI cannot think of any other person who could have filled Anemosi's place so well." 

"So that's what my mother was? A replacement for some faery-tale princess? At least she was here! At least she stayed with him! Who do you think took care of him when he woke up crying, thinking the orcs were attacking him again?" Elanor was quivering with anger, glad that her father's room was far down the hall, and that he was a sound sleeper. "Not your Lady Radika! No, your high and mighty princess stayed in her palace while my father dreamed of her and my mother suffered!" 

Kerra's eyes flashed and she was on her feet in an instant. Elanor felt a visceral wave of fear cutting through her insides and shrank back against the window as Kerra growled low under her breath. 

"Never disregard Anemosi's suffering. Please remember, Mistress Elanor, that when that door shut, Anemosi's heart was broken too. You cannot know how many nights I held her as she wept; you will never know how she screamed as that door closed her off from Master Samwise forever. And then, to turn from that door and face the Nazgul, alone and weak, to keep them from discovering that the Fellowship had escaped? Could you have done that, Mistress Elanor? Would you have had the strength to carry on?" 

Her eyes met Elanor's, silent and inscrutable. Elanor found she did not have the strength to meet Kerra's gaze for long, and she turned away, tears coursing down her cheeks. 

"She did all that?" Elanor whispered. 

Kerra sank back into her chair, and for the first time, Kerra looked old. Elanor wondered just how old she was, and just how many scars lay beneath the skin that no one could see. 

"All of it. And too much more to tell." 

"Tell me." whispered Elanor. Kerra glanced up at her, eyes wide and wondering. 

"Tell me," repeated Elanor, "about the woman my father loved." 

Kerra sighed deeply. "You ask a hard question, Mistress Elanor. She must be experienced to be fully appreciated." 

"You speak of her as if she is a treasure." 

"She is." Kerra tossed back her head and swallowed hard. "Anemosi was the last of the Lady Radikas. The line is broken after her. She had no children, no progeny to carry on the Power of the Lady--" 

"She never married?" Elanor asked. 

"She could not." answered Kerra. "She knew that no one could replace Sam for her, and in the face of that cold fact she devoted herself to rebuilding the fey. We lost greatly in the War of the Ring, and she had much work ahead of her. She took great joy in seeing others around her fall in love, however..." Kerra's voice trailed away, and she smiled sweetly. 

"You are one of these?" Elanor said, and Kerra nodded. 

"Why, Lady Kerra, who did you marry? I thought--" 

Kerra waved the question away with a dismissive hand. "Yes, I know. Some things never change, but a person may love two people on two different levels. That, Mistress Elanor, explains your father and mother. He loved both Anemosi and Rose, but he could not love them in the same fashion simply because they were not the same person." Her eyes grew dreamy once more. "And to answer your first question, I married Healer Drake five years after the War of the Ring ended. We have been very happy together." 

Elanor could not supress a small smile. "Have you had children?" 

Kerra's smile grew blinding. "Four, in fact. All brave, strong fighters. They have brought their father and me much joy." 

Elanor, feeling a gentle maternal instinct stirring within her, came to sit once more in her father's chair. "What were their names?" she asked, interest sparkling in her eyes and lighting her face. 

Kerra laughed quietly. "I think you would like them, Mistress Elanor. We named our children Gimli, Legolas, Merrie, and Pippin." 

"Four sons?" asked Elanor in delight. 

"Three sons and a daughter. Merrie is her name, and it fits her well. She is always singing and laughing." Kerra's face softened in a wave of love as she spoke of   
her children. "They are waiting for me down in Hobbiton. I am afraid our presence has disturbed many of the fine folk in these parts. It has been many years since we moved openly in Middle-Earth." 

Elanor smiled. Yes, the exotic, wild fey would be quite a shock to the good hobbits of the Shire. "Speaking of moving, there is one part of the story Papa did not explain," she said. "What was Anemosi doing when my father found her in the woods, and what happened to the man that was with her?" 

"Ah," Kerra said as her face darkened. "You see, she met your father during a time when the orcs were beginning to multiply throughout Middle-Earth. Anemosi and her brother, Caslan, were visiting the city of Bandabît when the warning came that the orcs were on the move, and that they should return home as quickly as possible. On the way home, as they cut across the Shire, they were waylaid by orcs. They forced Anemosi and Caslan to draw straws as to who would die...and Caslan lost." A tear unexpectedly dropped from Kerra's eye. 

"Caslan a brave man," she whispered, her voice rough with pain. "They made Anemosi watch as they killed him. She told me that he only cried out once, at the very end. The orcs obviously did not know who she was, or she would have been killed as well. It was at the end of her flight from the orcs that her pony slipped its shoe and your father happened upon her." Kerra sighed harshly and rubbed her eyes. "Anemosi has never stopped blaming herself for Caslan's death." 

Elanor was stunned. This Anemosi was made of stronger stuff than she realized, to have survived both the death of her brother and the loss of her love. 

"Kerra," she whispered. "I have one more question for you." 

The warrior looked up at her. "Yes, Mistress Elanor?" 

"Would she have married my father? Would she really have been the wife of a gardener?" Elanor's voice quivered slightly. 

Kerra smiled sadly. "Of course she would have. Doubt anything else about her, deny her any other virtue but that of her devotion to your father. She wanted nothing more than to live forever among the roses with him." Elanor bowed her head, suddenly regretting her earlier outburst as Kerra continued. 

"Love is the most powerful force any of us may encounter in our lives, whether we be elves, dwarves, or hobbits. Anemosi loved your father with all her being. Until the end of love itself, she will love your father." A soft silence fell as the depth of the fey's words sunk in. 

Kerra stood up slowly. "We have talked long, Mistress Elanor, and we have a long day before us. I will leave you now to your rest." 

"But where will you sleep?" asked Elanor. 

Kerra was already at the door. "I will sleep under the stars tonight...it has been a long time since I have done so, and I will be content in your father's garden." She inclined her head graciously towards Elanor, and pulled the door open. "I bid you good night, Mistress Elanor." 

She stepped out into the night silently, and disappeared into the night, leaving Elanor alone and wondering.   



	29. The Journey

***************   
  


Cool and clear, like fresh well water. That was how Sam's last day in the Shire began. It was cloudy, but as the Sun showed her golden face over Hobbiton, the dew dropped away from the roses in his garden like tears and the clouds raced away. It seemed as if the very land he lived upon was tempting him to stay in Bag End until the end of his days, but Sam was determined to go on his one last adventure.   
  
The provisions were made, with Elanor teafully packing away food as her father and Kerra laughed in front of the fire, now burned to cold ashes. They were reminiscing over happier parts of the Fellowship's stay in Siobhangé, but Elanor noticed they both deliberately avoided any reference to Anemosi. The great catharsis of story that had taken place the night before seemed to be forgotten and replaced by the hilarity of the two old friends. It didn't seem like a farewell; it was more of a celebration. 

When the preparations were completed and Sam handed over the key to Bag End to Elanor with an expression halfway between sorrow and relief, the three travelers stepped down onto the dirt road to be greeted by five figures climbing the hill. 

"Ah!" said Kerra, a grin lighting her face. "Master Samwise, may I introduce to you my family?" She extended her arms out to the approaching group and fairly ran towards a handsome, dark-haired man who could only be her husband, Drake. 

"Master Samwise!" Drake laughed richly as he arrived in front of Sam. "It does my heart well to see you again, tanhu!" 

Elanor's brow creased at the strange word, but her attention was distracted as she saw the four other fey standing behind Drake and Kerra. Two of the young men had curly blond hair that hugged their scalps like lovers, while the other two possessed rich chestnut hair that echoed the savage color of their mother's tresses. All four had blue eyes so dark they were almost black, and all of the children had the pale, flawless skin of their mother. All in all, a stunning quartet. 

The young woman came forward, her eyes mischievous and sparkling, and bowed low before Elanor. "I am pleased to meet you, Mistress Elanor. I hope we shall become good friends upon our journey." She extended two strong hands, roughened by hard work, and Elanor grasped them in her own, unable to resist smiling back at the young woman. 

"I see you have met my oldest child," said Kerra as she turned to face Merrie and Elanor. "Merrie will take over my place as leader of the fey armies when I retire."   
  
Merrie smiled proudly. "It shall be a sad day when the fey armies lose such an esteemed leader. But for now," and she turned her dazzling smile full force upon Sam, "I wish only to enjoy the company of these honorable hobbits." 

Sam blushed, wrinkled cheeks filling with color, as Merrie kissed her palm and laid it reverently against his heart. "Tanhu," she breathed, raising dark eyes to meet his darker ones. "I have longed to meet you...your bravey was never forgotten by our people." 

Sam coughed drily. "Ah, I see...uh, 'tis time to be getting on, don't you think? It's only that the day is marching on, and I want as good a start as we're going to get." 

Kerra nodded briskly. "Alright then, to the ponies." She gestured to one of her silent sons, who retreieved up the reins of several ponies that were waiting nearby and led them over to the little group. One by one, the fey and the hobbits mounted their ponies, and with a final look at Bag End, Sam turned his face westward and set off. 

Immediately, Merrie began to sing. She was a vivacious, cheerful young woman, much like her namesake, and her sweet soprano was like the call of a lark. As they passed through Hobbiton, the hobbits that were out and about were treated to a rare sight: six fey, all singing and laughing, with their capes fluttering like wings behind them, surrounding Master Samwise and his lovely daughter as they rode out of the Shire. It was a fanfare unlike any seen before or after, and one that was talked about long after Elanor returned home to the Shire. 

The ride to the Grey Havens passed achingly quick, with the fey accompanying Sam and Elanor adding to the delight of the journey. They seemed to have friends at every turn, who greeted the little band of travelers with a warmth that amazed Elanor, but that only reminded Sam of his golden weeks spent in Siobhangé. When Kerra introduced Sam to her friends, there was always an amazed silence, and then the same routine. They would kiss their palms, then lay their hands against his heart and whisper that strange word, "Tanhu". Elanor learned from Merrie "tanhu" meant "heart-friend" in the fey tongue, and that the gesture was one of the deepest respect and love that a fey could give. Apparently, Sam's connection to Anemosi had lasted throughout the years, and had affected all the fey at once. 

All too soon, the group arrived at the Grey Havens. 

The ship was already waiting for him, grey and sleek as it rested upon the water. Sam's eyes slid over the prow, his heart aching as he saw the vessel that would soon carry him far away from the lands that he loved. But in the back of his mind, he knew he could no longer stay in Middle-Earth, separated from both his closest friend and his dearest love. It was time to leave it all behind, and though he would miss all his beloved children (especially his dear Elanor), he knew that the time had come for him to be whole once more. 

At least as whole as he could be without Anemosi. 


	30. The Farewells

**************   


"Well, Sam," said Kerra, staring hard at the ship, "it seems to be time." Her family had melted away, leaving only herself at the top of the hill with Elanor and Sam. 

"Yes," Sam sighed. "It's time." He pulled on the reins of his pony and was about to start down the hill when a welcoming cry was heard behind him. Turning as fast as his aching body would allow him (although he was in wonderful condition for being one hundred and two, all the days of heavy riding had been rough on him), he was stunned to see several figures on ponies riding towards them. 

"You didn't think you could get away without saying goodbye to us, did you, Master Samwise?" A striking blonde woman was at the head of the party, out of breath and windblown; she and her companions had obviously been riding hard for a long time. 

"Tasla!" Sam's eyes were wide and joyful. "How did you know?" His face was a mass of happy wrinkles as Tasla reined her pony in next to his and dropped a gentle kiss on an old cheek. 

"We have our ways, Master Samwise," she replied archly. Elanor nearly froze as her father gestured towards her and she became the focus of an intense emerald gaze. What was it about the fey, that they needed such devastating eyes, Elanor thought disjointedly as Tasla swept her up in a hearty embrace. Before long, she was thrust into another round of introductions; names from her father's story blurred in and out of her hearing...Tasla...Masirat....Votal...Iaka...they were all there to see her father off. 

Sam was overwhelmed by the arrival of such warmly remembered friends, and even more touched when they all insisted upon accompanying him down to the ship. Elanor stayed close by her father's side, with their hands tightly linked between their two ponies. Amid the chattering, happy throng, Elanor had never felt closer to her father. 

The ride was over too quickly. They had reached the bottom of the hill, and the time had come for farewells. 

Elanor felt the tears coming hard and fast; until now, she had been able to deny to herself that her father was leaving; now, the time to say goodbye had come and she found she had no words to tell her father just how much he meant to her. 

He heaved himself off his pony, joints creaking, and Elanor followed suit, with the rest of their companions soundlessly steering their mounts to line both sides of the path to the ship, silent guardians, filled with love and respect. 

She gripped Sam's hands, tears blinding her. Her mouth worked unceasingly, but the only word she could get out was "Papa...papa..." 

He laid a gentle, rough hand on her cheek. "Hush, sweeting. I...I have something for you." He reached into his pack, untying the strings with trembling fingers, and reverently, gently, withdrew the Red Book. He laid in in Elanor's hands, and she burst into thick, shaking sobs. 

"Oh Papa, it's all finished, your story, it's all done--" 

"Hush now, Elanor," Sam said sternly in the voice that had never ceased to bring her to heel as a child. She blinked at him through her tears and he placed his hands on her shoulders. 

"My story may be done, my dear, but yours is still going on...'tis not only my story that'll be in this here book. Someday," he said, tapping the Book, "this book will become many books, filled with all sorts of adventures that aren't here yet." He smiled tiredly, and looked at the ship. "I think another part of my story is just beginning. 

She threw her arms around him, sobbing breathlessly into his shoulder. "Oh Papa, I love you so much...I'll miss you...oh Papa!" 

He stroked her hair, still light and buttery as it had been since she was born. "Hush, Elanor. It'll be alright...I love you too." His voice broke on the last word, and he pulled away roughly. She backed away, her heart aching ceaselessly, and watched him as he started to walk down the path to the ship. He walked so slowly, touching every fey's hands and whispering something to each of them in turn. Finally, just as he was about to climb the stairs to the ship, he turned back, gazing at the figures before him, silent and waiting. They all saw him suddenly reach under his shirt and lift something out. Elanor felt her heart spasm as she realized what it was: Anemosi's taena. 

Sam lifted his eyes to meet Kerra's anguished gaze. She knew what he was doing, and it made her heart turn over in her chest. *Oh Sam,* she thought. *You long for her so...you wonder why she is not here...oh Sam...* 

He gripped the taena in his hand tightly, feeling it lay cold and dead in his palm. He turned away from Kerra and faced the wood from which they had come, and whispered a name that made his entire being cry out for silver hair and skin, for the memory of eyes he would carry to his grave. "Anemosi," he whispered. "Oh Anemosi, this is goodbye...forever. My beautiful, beautiful Anemosi..." 

He waited, for a movement within him, for a sudden rush of wind, for anything, but nothing came. Nothing. Nothing was different except for his heart, which was well and truly shattered. He raised aching eyes to meet Kerra's as she swung down off her pony and hurried to his side, her face agonized. 

"I'm sorry," he moaned as she took his hands in hers. Tears were streaming down his face as he tried to hold in huge gulping sobs. Merrie had come to stand beside Elanor, and the two women had linked hands tightly in mutual support. 

"I just wanted to say goodbye...where is she? Is she gone? I would have felt it, if she was...I just wanted to see her one last time..." His voice faded into wracking sobs as Kerra squeezed his hands tenderly. 

"You poor old fool," she said lovingly, wiping away the tears with a battle-hardened hand. "You should have known you could not call her...Sam." 

He froze in mid-sob. The voice that spoke his name, that was not Kerra's voice. Who had called him? He looked around wildly, trembling uncontrollably. 

"Sam." There it was again! Who? Who?! 

"Sam!" Oh, that voice! 

"Oh, Sam!" breathed Kerra. "You should have known you could not call her...if she was already here." 

Sam cried out, a sad mix of joy and wonder and an old, old longing that made Elanor's heart rise like a bird. He whirled around, and his eyes fell upon a slender figure, swathed and hooded in a grey cloak. He could not see under the hood, but could it be? Oh, could it? Could it... 

The figure slowly raised graceful hands and lifted away the hood. Elanor had a brief glimpse of silver, reflecting the sun, when her father moaned out loud and she heard Kerra's muffled cry of joy. 


	31. The Undying Lands

***************   


She defied description, trembling in the air. Everything about her was ethereal and unreal, like a ghost in broad daylight, which was what she could have been. This was the woman who had held Sam's heart for so long, and now had come back to make it whole again.   
  
Sam was frozen. How long had he dreamed of this moment, alone in a cold bed, wishing he was somewhere else, among roses that never died? Oh Anemosi! 

She walked towards him, her eyes never leaving his and echoing that powerful need that was almost overpowering him. Suddenly, he was conscious of being very old and tarnished against her unwithered beauty. 

"Oh Sam," she breathed, her voice stirring winds inside he had forgotten existed. Elanor watched as she came to stand before her father, and he raised his hands to either side of that face and held them there as if fearing the lightest touch would destroy the fragile dream before him. Anemosi shivered, tears streaming down her face, when Sam burst into tears again and threw his arms around her, sobbing against her glorious spill of hair, whispering muffled words of love that only she could hear. 

He pulled away suddenly, his face pained. "Oh, Anemosi," he whispered. "I got old, so old, and you're just the same as you were..." He turned away from her, hard as it was, but her voice stopped him. 

"Sam, do you think that would stop me? They will take your years away." He turned back to look at her in confusion, but even as his head was turning, the fey were raising their hands and chanting softly, a rise and fall like the tides of the sea. Elanor felt a heavy weight lift as the air around her rippled, and she gasped as the air returned to normal and she saw her father before her, younger than even she remembered him, as young as the day he had first awakened in Siobhangé to mee the silver gaze of his true love. 

With a cry of joy he swept his arms around, laughing and kissing and talking all at once. There had never been a more pure show of joy in Middle-Earth, and never would be again. When teh first madness had subsided, Anemosi turned her eyes upon Elanor, who felt a chill at finally facing the Lady Radika. 

"Elanor," she breathed, her voice gentle, like water over smooth stones. "I name you fey-friend, tanhu, and the recipient of my taena." Anemosi lifted the trinket from Sam's hand, breathed a word that made Elanor shiver deliciously over it, and handed it to Elanor with the most beautiful smile that Elanor had ever seen. 

"Call us, when you are in need, my friend." Elanor nodded, her heart too full for words. Anemosi lightly kissed a delicate palm, and laid it against Elanor's heart. 

Without thinking, Elanor did the same, making Anemosi's eyes fill with tears as pure as rain. 

Anemosi turned to Kerra, her most beloved friend, who stood weeping silently in wondrous joy. She laid her hands on Kerra's cheeks, and whispered, "My friend, you must lead them on. I am no longer for Middle-Earth...my service to the Lady here is ended." Kerra nodded briefly, and turned away, tears coursing down her cheeks. 

"My life and heart for you, Lady Radika," was all she could say. 

Anemosi smiled sadly. "Someday, Kerra, I will see you again. All of you," she said, and spread her arms to the fey gathered before her, who all raised their hands in a sad, sad gesture of love and respect. 

"Farewell, my dearest friends," she whispered, and caught Sam's hand in hers. A golden note was sounded by a horn from far off, warning them off the imminent departure. Sam ran to Elanor, still shocked at her father's new and yet old appearance, embracing his daughter one last time as Anemosi kissed Kerra lightly on both cheeks. Linking hands tightly, the pair tore themselves away from their loved ones and mounted the stairs to the ship just as it began to pull out of the harbor. 

But at the very last, just before the ship was gone, Elanor could see her father's figure waving at them as they sailed into the sky. 

Moments passed in silence, falling into eternity, when Kerra broke the stillness and turned to Elanor. 

"Well, my friend, your father said there are adventures left to come...shall we begin them?" 

Elanor stared into the distance, watching a tiny speck moving on the horizon. "Yes," she said. "Yes, we shall." 

They mounted their ponies, and without a backward glance at the sea, and with much laughter and song, the hobbit and the fey rode back into Middle-Earth, and the rest of the world left to discover. 

*************** 

They could see the Undying Lands. The shore was coming up fast, and seemed to glow in the light of the virgin morning. Anemosi was already at the prow of the ship, quivering with excitement when Sam came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"I love you," he whispered into her hair. He could never say it enough, and now he had all of eternity to do so. 

"I love you, Master Samwise the Strong, Last of the Ringbearers," she replied teasingly. He sighed happily, her sweet nature and pure love making him feel stronger than he ever had when the Ring was tempting him. 

They stood in silence for a time, still reveling in the joy of being together once more, when Anemosi's eyes caught movement on the shore. 

"Why, Sam, there's someone waiting for us on the shore!" she said, and pointed at a figure which was just becoming recognizable. 

Sam squinted to try and see it better, and in a rush of purest joy he laughed out loud. 

"Why, bless me," he said in wonder. "It's Mr. Frodo." 

And Samwise Gamgee, like this tale, was complete.   



End file.
